


The Strange Case of a Mad Doctor and the Monster Inside

by DaydreamingDuma



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Murder, Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Canon-Typical Violence, Critical Role Murder Mystery AU, Graphic Description of Corpses, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jack the Ripper Vibes, Jekyll and Hyde meets Frankenstein, Manipulation, Murder Mystery, Slow Burn, Suspense, Warning: Anna Ripley, Whitestone is basically Victorian London, dead bodies, description of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamingDuma/pseuds/DaydreamingDuma
Summary: A string of gruesome bodies found across the continent prompts misfit Half-Elf twins, Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan, to temporarily swap their life of sneaking and stealing to become private investigators, using their skills to follow hot on the heels of what is quickly becoming Tal’Dorei’s most vicious murderer.Joining forces with Ashari druid Keyleth and the powerhouse trio of Pike, Scanlan and Grog, it isn’t long before the chase leads to the mysterious city of Whitestone where the cornered murderer appears to change tactics...Now the quest to catch a killer becomes a mission to save the last of the de Rolo family from a dark fate five years in the making.
Relationships: Cassandra de Rolo & Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Cassandra de Rolo/Kynan Leore, Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Anna Ripley, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia, Saundor/Vex'ahlia (Critical Role), Scanlan Shorthalt/Pike Trickfoot, Vax'ildan & Vex'ahlia (Critical Role)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 69





	1. “There’s been bodies in Westruun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Deep in a curious mind, far from the world of light, a writer took the thrilling horror books, ‘The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’ and ‘Frankenstein’ and stirred them into a Critical Role pot to see what simmered... 
> 
> The result has been seasoned with some ‘Jack the Ripper’ and served up right here for you. Bon appetite.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have seen better days.”  
> \- Timon of Athens

A body was found in the very early hours of the morning, before the sun had dawned, in the hay barn of Alfred Marmaduke.

A 5 year old boy - Alfred Marmaduke’s youngest son. 

Westruun didn’t boast of a crime-free society. After all, every city had their fair share of thieves and hustlers and poachers, some of it the direct cause of the Clasp which were still Tal’Dorei’s ruling underground criminal organisation. Manslaughter was a common crime and wilful murder happened rarely. They used to think. 

The boy had been called Christopher. Rambunctious. Sprightly. Looked to promise a similar strength and disposition as one of his older siblings had he been allowed to continue life. There had been some, those that were either too ignorant or too frightened to see the truth, that argued that the boy had been mauled by a wild animal and, certainly, first opinions may have easily suggested that.

Christopher’s body had been cut several times, deep lacerations along the arms and the upper torso, the work of strong claws, perhaps. But there had been no signs of chewing and there were no bite marks. The legs were practically untouched and the face unmarked and along the boy’s neck was a long clean cut, deliberate and precise, as might be found on the victim of a ‘common’ throat-cutter.

And no wild animal would gain any profit from drawing a simple sad face with the boy’s own blood on the ground beside him.

But for the sake of the Westruun people, the council declared that it had been the work of a roaming wolf or large cat that had managed to wander into city farmland. Better that the civilians continued to think it impossible that someone who was willing to take the life of an innocent child could possibly be calling Westruun ‘home’. 

A week later, a second body.

It was partially buried in the refuse of Westruun’s dumping ground.

The man, a lazy fellow in his late forties called Marcus Foresythe, was a known drunk and had frequented all the taverns that he had managed to not yet get himself banned from. He had only one living relative that hadn’t really cared for him and his rude, arrogant behaviour wasn’t missed by the general public.

But the condition in which he had been left in and found was still considered extreme and the sad face drawn out in the man’s blood on the fence seemed to agree. 

The Westruun military never located where Mr Foresythe’s lower body or his bottom jaw had gone.

“Predators,” some said with nervous smiles. “A wild wandering forest lion or a Gnoll, easily. Wandered from the Bramblewood probably.” 

“Inside the city?” others had replied without any semblance of a smile. “Are the city walls still intact? Perhaps a search should be made for a hole or another sort of breach...”

When the third body was found, most of Westruun was no longer in any doubt that there was a killer on the loose.

It was a woman known as Madame Lorina, a Halfling of the upper class breed, that had met with a grossly lower class end, most of her body strewn over the park grass and floating about on the water of the pond.

How sad the blood-drawn face looked on the public footpath...

Three bodies in the course of two weeks. People may have covered it up by blaming wild animals but the signature of Madame Lorina’s death was found too quickly and nothing could keep the revelation that there was a murderer around quiet. Not when the council had to grit their teeth, clench their fists and get up off their backsides to admit that, yes, the bodies of Marcus Foresythe and little Christopher Marmaduke had also been accompanied by sorrowful red blood graffiti nearby.

But as Westruun fretted and panicked and rioted and waited in sickening fear of the next attack, the next murder... no further reports came in. No new bodies were found. No murmurs of any ill intent. The petty criminals were cautious to continue their art and the would-be imitators were poor comparisons and easily discovered. But as for the killer itself, it simply vanished without a word, no sign of it ever leaving just as there had been no sign of it arriving. The damage, however, was done; three people had lost their lives and Westruun was left in a perpetual state of unease and fear.

There was, after all, the distinct possibility that the killer was simply being patient.

Lowering one’s guard was the last thing any of the people could afford to do.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Miss, but there’s no way,” said the guard, holding out her spear to the ranger. “You can’t bring it in.” 

“Ridiculous,” Vex’ahlia spat. “Can’t you see that it’s not a wild animal? This bear is my companion! I’m not leaving him behind.” 

“City orders,” the guard insisted. “Again, I am sorry, but the people are nervous. A bear may cause unnecessary panic, regardless of how well trained it is.” 

Vex could feel her brother’s eyes on her, awaiting her inevitable eruption. 

“Trinket isn’t just _trained_. He’s _tame_. What if I keep my hand on him at all times?” 

“I don’t know if that will alleviate any concerns.” 

“Then you expect us to camp outside the city walls? Visitors to the city? Potential traders told to endure the wilderness?” 

The guard sighed and glanced to her partner who could offer nothing to the conversation, it seemed, by the way he shrugged and made an awkward face at Vax. 

“Look, I understand,” the first guard said gently. “Believe me. My brother has a companion like you and he can’t stand to be away from it for even a moment. I get it. But you have to sympathise with us.” She lowered her spear and glanced over her shoulder. “The people are skittish. They flinch easy. For a time, we were under the impression that wild animals were getting in and mauling people and even though that thinking has been rectified, there are still those that might not take exceptional comfort to a _bear_ being walked around among them.” 

“Mauling?” Vex looked incredulous. “What in the world are you on about?” 

“You haven’t heard?” the second guard asked, genuinely surprised, it seemed. He recoiled back as soon as the first guard snapped her fingers at him. 

“We are NOT spreading fanciful stories around like milkmaids’ gossip,” she said hotly and then returned a cold gaze to Vex. “You’re either leaving the bear out here or you’re not coming in at all. Which is it to be?” 

Vex’ahlia squared her shoulders and met the woman’s glare with her own, her arms tensing as her anger began to grow hot. 

“Vex,” she heard her brother’s voice in her ear, quiet and soothing, “it isn’t worth it. I can stay with Trinket, if you want to enter Westruun. We can’t afford to get into more trouble with authorities.”

Vex hadn’t dropped eye contact but she also hadn’t forgotten the brief look of sympathy that had appeared on the guard’s face before. 

“No,” she murmured back. “We stick together.” Taking a large lungful of air to calm herself, Vex aggressively turned her back and knelt down to her faithful bear who whined at her and licked her chin. “Trinket,” she told him in a soft voice, “Vax and I will be in the city. The Bramblewood is yours to look after. Stay away from anyone you don’t know and roar for me if you need me. Okay?” 

A confirming grunt came from the bear but rather than wander off in the direction of the Bramblewood, Trinket ambled over to a shaded spot against the city wall, in clear view of the gates, sat down hard on his rump and rolled to his side, crossing his huge front paws and giving the two guards a look that could only have been learnt from his mistress. 

Vex didn’t bother with a parting quip and practically strutted through the gates, hoping Vax had the good sense to keep up with her. 

Westruun was alive with activity, like a beehive in the summer, people flitting to and fro, back and forth between the market stalls, the stores, the parks and their houses. 

“Let’s just do what we need to do and be back on the road,” Vex grumbled, in a foul mood now that she’d been denied her beloved bear. 

Vax’ildan wasn’t prepared to argue with her and the chance to get out of her way for a few hours wasn’t one he was going to pass up on. So when they came to a crossroads, Vex took one direction, trailing behind two wealthy looking gentlemen, and Vax melted into the shadows and disappeared in the other. 

Shopping was sport for Vex’ahlia but not because she especially liked purchasing new items of clothing or accessories or even spending money in general. It was the haggling she loved. It had all started from living a poor life as children and then fending for themselves in the wild and her very first successful haggle had been the first boost her shattered confidence needed back then. Now, the thrill of twisting a pompous seller of over-priced wares until he or she relented to Vex’s predatory grin was beyond rewarding and she was able to come away satisfied and full. 

Vax preferred sticking a dagger into some villain’s back and calling it a day but rather than go around lifting purses from the rich and pocketing a few tasteful pieces of jewellery, he instead broke his usual routine and followed the meandering streets until he found a tavern. It wasn’t the most attractive looking building in Westruun but it seemed popular with the locals that were walking by along the road. Vex’s technique was to do things face to face; barter for things and talk to people. Vax’s technique was the opposite; quietly pickpocket and eavesdrop for information. But if push came to shove, Vax was capable of holding a decent conversation as he was now hoping to prove.

The plan of attack was to mooch about and fall on his usual ‘eavesdrop’ routine until the chance to advance into his sister’s line of work presented itself.

The tavern spoilt him for choice. At every table, on every stool, men and women of varying races (mostly Human) huddled in groups, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes loudly, sometimes unintelligibly as they slurred into their tankards. Some were slumped by the walls, staring balefully at nothing, while others were laughing half-heartedly and throwing dice and cards and coins down on the table as well as the odd punch as they engaged in games. It amazed Vax just how diverse people could be. 

His attention was eventually drawn to two rough-looking men by the window who had clearly taken a break from work or had finished altogether for the day. He heard from the taller man with a beard, as he passed by, 

“-aking no chances. Everyone’s pointin’ fingers at ev’rybody an’ they’ll put you away for makin’ a growl. Doesn’t surprise me they’d ‘ave that girl.” 

Vax stopped and turned to sidle past a nearby table, looking for all the world as though he was trying to weave around the chairs to get somewhere else while, in reality, he was following a path that would take him back via the two men at the window. His keen Half-Elven hearing allowed him to keep them in ear shot over the chatter of everyone else. 

“She were only a visitor,” the second, smaller and yet considerably dirtier, man was responding. “How’s she t’ know? Unfair if’fer askin’ me.” 

“Fair? Since when’s anythin’ been fair? You want fairness? How’s about you cough up some coin for these drinks?” 

An opportunity this perfect couldn’t have presented itself more openly but, if Vax wanted to seize it, he’d have to forego the act of looking like a usual tavern visitor. 

“Like you’s worked hard for it?” the smaller man scoffed, rapping his knuckles on the table. “Come off it! You ain’t lifted more than a finger all day!” 

“Perhaps,” Vax said, silently standing over their table as though he’d been there the entire time, “I can cover this round?” 

The two men, of course, were startled by his sudden appearance. Vax’ildan dressed in the colours of his favoured environment, the shadows, so his attire didn’t appear to be the most welcoming and looked more becoming on a corvid bird. He argued that it was appropriate for his line of work - letting others think he was an undertaker. 

“...Huh,” grunted Bearded Man, recovering from his startle, “mighty decent of you, stranger. What’s warrantin’ that sort’a kindness?”

Vax hooked his heel behind the leg of a free stool from the neighbouring table and casually kicked it across, sitting down on it all in one fluid motion. 

“Well, see, I’m also kind of new in the city,” he smiled, lifting his hand and signalling two fingers to one of the barmaids, indicating that two more drinks were needed, “and I couldn’t help but overhear that someone’s got into trouble. Don’t want to make the same mistake, if you know what I mean?” 

“You plannin’ on changin’ into wild animals jus’ as the mood takes you?” Beard Man murmured, wiping the froth of his ale from the hair around his mouth. “If not, you’ll be okay.” 

“Ah, well, I’ve got my snake belt, Simon,” Vax chuckled, running his fingers behind the leather and metal rope-like strap that was coiled around his waist. “Is that going to make people sweat?”

Dirt Man shook his head as he rubbed his nose. “Nah. It be things that tear an’ savage that you need t’ be avoidin’.” 

“If people were dyin’ ‘cause of some kinda poisonin’ then, yeah, you n’ your belt would be wanted men,” said Beard Man, throwing a bit of peanut into his mouth. 

“People dying?” Vax asked. He and Vex had travelled from village to town to city and there was always deaths. It was a part of life. Accidents happened, old age struck, illness was everywhere. Death was nothing new. Vax had even been the cause of it many a time. 

“You been livin’ a life under’a rock or somethin’?” Beard Man scoffed and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s been bodies in Westruun.” 

“Dead ones,” Dirt Man nodded with a crooked grin on his face. 

“No duh, Mack!” 

“The guards at the gate said something about people being mauled but nothing about actual bodies,” Vax said, his curiosity peaked. “Some were actually killed then?” 

“Simple maulin’s?” Dirt Man snorted and threw back the last of his first ale from his mug. “Yeah, that’ll do it. We ain’t so thick as to go along with _that_.”

Beard Man hunched down and leant closer, his voice softening into a raspy whisper. 

“It were no animal attack, my friend,” he said and a strange gleam twinkled in the man’s eyes. “ _Murder_. Plain an’ simple. ‘Cept not so simple ‘cause the victims were torn apart an’ now there ain’t been any sign of a culprit since.”

A cold feeling trickled down Vax’s spine. He had enough blood on his hands to have him put away and executed but he only ever killed when it was needed and never _ever_ an innocent. His only comfort was that his style of death was a few fast dagger wounds in the back or neck, not tearing the doomed soul apart. 

“That’s why th’ girl were arrested,” Dirt Man continued. “They still want’cha to think it were wild animals gettin’ in, _some’ow_.”

The pieces fell into place for Vax. There would be only one reason they’d arrest someone for animal attacks. 

“She’s a druid?” 

“Aye,” Dirt Man nodded wistfully. “Pretty lass, too. Lots o’ the people didn’t agree with it an’ are makin’ a complaint. Don’t know much ‘bout that seein’ as I don’t want any part.” 

“Best bet be talkin’ to one of th’ angry lot. They’ll give an earful for any time’a day,” Beard Man said, lifting himself back up and crushing another peanut against the table. 

“But you’re all sure it _wasn’t_ animal attacks? asked Vax. “It was certainly murder?” 

Beard Man brushed bits of nut shell onto the floor and aggressively bit into the peanut. 

“Those in charge would ‘ave you believe otherwise but workin’ folk know what we know. Serial killer. Might be gone. Might still be ‘ere. That’s all we _don’t_ know. An’ that’s not all. We talk, we common folk. We talk to travellers an’ to th’ traders an’ we know that Westruun ain’t been th’ first huntin’ ground.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Not what _I_ say, man. ‘S what we’re _all_ sayin’. This kinda thing’s happened before but it all gets hushed up ‘cause the last thing we wants is mass panic, right?” 

“‘Cept when the murderer ain’t been caught yet,” Dirt Man grimaced. “Still out there, runnin’ ‘bout, killin’ more folk! If they can’t catch ‘em then there’ll be panic sittin’ on their doorsteps whe’er they like it or not.”

Vax straightened his shoulders and mulled this information around in his head as he reached into his hidden pouch and pulled out a few gold pieces, leaving them on the table as the barmaid drew near with two more drinks for the men. 

“...Well, I’m not intending for either of you gentlemen to get into trouble so I’ll say no more about it,” he said and rose to his feet. “Thank you for the information.” 

“Thankin’ you for the drink, my lad,” Beard Man smiled, catching sight of the barmaid and patting the coins. “You can come stop by and say no more ‘bout it with us again.”


	2. “You found new friends?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”  
> \- Hamlet

If the shop-keeper was either head over heels in love with her or seething with vengeful rage by the time Vex’ahlia left the shop, it was counted a success and the new items in her bag never felt more worthwhile. Now with three new health potions and some fresh food rations, as well as a few bits of silver taken from the pocket of a man who’d tried to do more than smile at her, Vex returned slowly through the back roads until she found the familiar sight of a lonely brother dressed in black, sat on the wall of some poor resident who must have thought that the Raven Queen had sent him as an omen of impending death. 

‘Impending death’ looked pleased to see his sister and he childishly kicked his legs as she drew near. 

“So, what have you been up to?” he asked, hopping off the wall and effortlessly falling into synchronised step beside her as she continued walking without a pause. 

“Securing us some money,” Vex replied, shaking her bag. “And supplies.” 

“Well how about that for a topsy-turvy day. I’ve been _talking_ to people.” 

“Perhaps we accidentally put on each other’s boots before leaving this morning. What have you been _talking_ with the locals about?” 

Vax cleared his throat and chanced a quick look around to see if anyone might overhear them as they wandered slowly back towards the centre of town. 

“Those maulings that the guards at the gate were fretting over.” 

“Oh, that,” Vex sighed as though she were feeling guilty of the fuss she caused. “Come on then, how bad are they? Do they think it’s a bear?” 

“No.” Vax’s voice quietened and he pressed closer to her so that their shoulders were touching. “In actual fact, despite what some are trying to have them believe, the locals are sure it’s murder.” 

He felt her stiffen. It was part of the life that they had been forced to live that whenever ‘murder’ was brought up, the first thought was that it was one of theirs. Vax (and even Vex) was known to leave the body of a just-deserved villain behind in his wake. 

“...Well, that’s great,” Vex replied after a long breath. “We’ve come to a city where a murderer is running around.” 

“Not just here,” Vax went on, his voice dropping even further so that only their sensitive hearing could possibly make it out. “There’s been similar murders all across Tal’Dorei, apparently.” 

A frown furrowed on Vex’s brow but it was one born from confusion rather than genuine concern. 

“What kind of murders? Ones that look like they might incriminate a wild animal? Mauling?” 

“Locals didn’t give a pretty description, that’s for sure. Still, it’s just as well we didn’t bring Trinket in. Some druid has been arrested for shape-changing into an animal.” 

“Any particular kind of animal?” 

“I’ve no idea but there are others who are kicking up a fuss about it.” 

“I mean, if she went and shape-changed into a tiger or something then I can understand people not taking that well...” 

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Vax noticed a large crowd gathering in the town square and with it came raised, angry voices of protest. He could spy the garb of Westruun’s guard in amongst the mix. “You want to go check it out?” 

“Sure. Maybe we can figure out what’s actually going on,” Vex said. “This is the first I’ve heard about a string of murders. The last thing Tal’Dorei needs is a continental serial killer.”

* * *

“We’re not releasing anyone until the right questions have been asked and we know we haven’t got a threat in our midst!” shouted the guard, her hand gripping the upper arm of a panicking druid. 

“You want a threat in your midst?” the Gnome, small and feisty, snapped back. “I’ve seen and BEEN a threat. That young lady is _not_!”

Vex and Vax subtlety pushed through the excited crowd, most of which seemed to be on the Gnome’s side while a few appeared to be quietly agreeing with the guard. 

“Calm it down, Daughter,” the guard said, “before you disappoint your patroness. The council will deal with this.” 

“The council doesn’t need to deal with anything,” the Gnome went on angrily. “I can vouch for her! I saw what happened! She only turned into a badger to entertain the children!” 

“Badgers can be dangerous creatures.” 

“But look at her!” a second guard, stood to one side, seemed to counter-argue as they gestured to the druid. “Does she honestly look like a murderer to you?”

Vex and Vax both looked and to their astonishment saw another Half-Elf, like them, dressed in a long green forest tunic similar to Vex’s and wearing an autumn leaf shawl around her shoulders. Her hair was coppery red and she wore what appeared to be a young buck’s antlers on her head but it was her face that caught their attention most. She looked worried, not in any grave concern for herself but apparently for the fact that she may have broken a law that she had no knowledge of. Unless she was a convincing actress, she was the picture of naive innocence. 

The Gnome, a lightly tanned woman with what appeared to be brightly sun-bleached white hair and wearing a pale blue tunic and scarf, was stood in front of the two guards, one of which was holding a twisted wood staff and their prisoner. The other, the one who had counter-argued, seemed to be standing closer to the Gnome who’s feet were apart, ready to save the taller Half-Elf with every muscle that was evident in her deceptively strong-looking arms. 

“That’s for the council to decide,” the first guard was saying.

Vex was trying to catch the other Half-Elf’s eye but the druid was too focused on the guard and the Gnome to realise that another of her race was looking to get her attention. The twins barely saw any Half-Elves on the roads and knew that most chose to keep to their own communities. There were times that they felt like dogs catching sight of other dogs and wanted to immediately bark and greet a potential new friend. 

So without realising that she was moving, Vex had stepped forward into full view of the guards as a sudden protective urge bubbled up inside her. 

“Excuse me? Sorry, excuse me?” she said in a polite but firm voice, as though she were calling a waiter back so she could, _pleasantly_ , complain about the food. “I believe- Yes, I’m sorry to cause a problem, but that young woman belongs with us.” She was thankful she could sense Vax’s darker presence at her shoulder. He was always ready to back her up in whatever situation she managed to throw herself into, sometimes to his own detriment. 

Several pairs of eyes turned towards her as the crowd quietened a bit to hear what was going on. The two guards, one glowering, one just frowning, turned their faces to the twins while the Gnome looked curious and their fellow Half-Elf continued to look concerned. 

“And you are?” the guard holding the druid asked suspiciously, taking in Vex’s forest-wear and Vax’s black leathers. 

“Representatives of Syngorn,” Vex immediately replied, lifting her head and moving an elegant hand, gracefully, in the direction of the druid. “And that is one of the Ashari. We have been escorting her.”

The druid’s eyes widened in surprise as did the eyes of the guard but for differing reasons. 

“...You’re from Syngorn?” the guard murmured as she glanced between the druid and the twins. “ _Half_ -Elves in Syngorn?”

Yes, everyone knew the social stigma that came with inter-racial breeding among Elves. Some couldn’t resist the rugged charm of a rough-skinned Human and, as a result, Half-Elves had to pay the price, especially in the high-brow society that was the city of Syngorn, a beacon of purity in the eyes of Elves. There were some Elven civilisations that were more tolerant of half-breeds, the twins were sure, but they had yet to find them. 

Vex dug under the fabric of her clothes and pulled out her father’s token, the Vessar Emblem, which included the symbol of Syngorn as identifying proof. 

“Not what Syngorn would like you to know, but yes,” she said in a steeled tone of voice. “As for our charge, you can release her. She is one of the Ashari, like I said, so you must know that they are _not_ murderers but peaceful guardians of nature.”

The Gnome smirked and glanced back at the guard with an almost challenging expression. The guard, however, didn’t seem swayed. 

“So just because you’re the same race as her, I should believe you and release her just like that?” She carefully moved her grip from the upper arm to the druid's wrist. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?” 

“I suppose you don’t. You only have my word and the symbol of Syngorn to convince you.” 

Vax loved it when Vex got into the swing of things. She would have made a fine aristocrat or lady of nobility had their father simply ignored the opinions of Syngorn’s society and given his children the same encouragement that the pure Elven children received. An impossible wish, really. No bastard offspring of an Elf ambassador and a Human seamstress would ever be encouraged to amount to anything in that city.

The guard looked like she wanted to protest further but there came a louder, deeper voice which stopped her and her unsure colleague in their tracks and, much to the twins’ dismay, an Elf in Captain of the Guard uniform came over, parting the crowd without any effort as the people stumbled over one another to be out of his path. He looked at the druid for a moment and then cast a somewhat disproving glance at the twins. He barely looked at the Gnome. 

“Release her,” he ordered, to everyone’s astonishment. “The woman is right - this Half-Elf is of the Ashari. I recognise the marks. There will be no fine issued. Let her go.” 

The guard holding the druid immediately dropped her hand while the second guard seemed relieved that they weren’t going to be in trouble for arguing. The red haired Half-Elf stepped gingerly away from them, nodding her head as a way of thanks to the captain as her staff was returned to her. She scurried to stand behind the twins, revealing that she was roughly the same height as Vax. 

The Elf captain examined the three of them for a moment longer, took one final look at the Vessar Emblem and then snapped his fingers, leading the two other guards away as a chorus of impressed mutters and a few claps moved through the crowd. But now that the show was over and there was nothing to protest or riot about, most of the people dissipated and went separate ways.

The druid breathed a sigh of relief and clasped her hands to her chest. 

“Thank you,” she said and her voice sounded sweet, “I was in real trouble there.” 

“Still might be if you don’t keep a low profile for a few days,” Vex replied, not unkindly, as she turned around to face her. “Where are you staying?”

She shrugged. “I was at an inn. They... probably won’t want me back now.” 

“Oh, stop with the sad eyes, for the love of Sarenrae.” The three of them looked down at the smiling Gnome who had spoken up and hadn’t left with the crowd. She clicked her tongue and bobbed her head over her shoulder. “Come on, we’ll see if we can fit three more lost beggars into my tiny house. That performance is worthy of being rewarded with a drink.” 

“What makes you think we’re lost?” Vex asked with narrowed eyes.

The Gnome was still smiling kindly at her. 

“Not meaning any offence,” she said, “but the guard was right about the whole ‘Half-Elves in Syngorn’ thing. You’re not from around here so... Outcasts, am I right?”

The druid looked at the twins and then at the Gnome expectantly, holding onto her staff as she waited.

When neither of them replied, the Gnome gave a satisfied nod. “Thought so. No trouble. Three beggars it is.” 

“My sister and I don’t need to come if you’re pressed for space, as kind as the offer is...” Vax immediately began to say but he was quietened by a wave of the Gnome’s hand. 

“Of course you don’t need to come. But I _am_ inviting you,” she told him. “Besides, we’ve managed to fit 3 Gnomes and a Goliath under that roof, what are three slender Half-Elven twigs like you going to do?” 

She began to move off, walking with enough conviction that people stepped out of her way readily enough, despite her smaller size. The Half-Elves found there was nothing else to do but follow, feeling it was rude not to accept her invitation but still trying to work out if their pride had been wounded or not. 

“That guard back there wasn’t insulting you, by the way, was she?” Vex suddenly decided to ask, remembering the previous conversation. When the Gnome looked up in confusion, Vex went on to clarify, “About your height? She called you a daughter...?” 

“Oh right!” The Gnome smiled. It was amazing how her face reverted from stern and sinister to gentle and motherly in the span of a few seconds. “No, that wasn’t an insult. I’m a cleric of the Everlight, see?” She gave the necklace around her throat a squeeze and adjusted it so that it was displaying the holy symbol of the goddess of healing and redemption. “We sometimes are referred to as Children of Sarenrae. Daughter, in my case.” 

Vex shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m Vex’ahlia, by the way. Vex for short and this is my twin brother, Vax’ildan.” 

“Vax,” he nodded. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Pike,” answered the Gnome and then looked back at the third member of their small group. “What about you, sweetie, you have a name?”

The druid was walking along quietly next to Vax, trying not to draw any further attention to herself. Upon realising she was being addressed, she lifted her head and pushed her hair away from her freckled face. 

“Keyleth,” she said and looked over at Vex. “How did you know I’m one of the Ashari?” 

“I read books,” replied Vex. “I could tell what you were by the same way that captain could tell - your marks on the arms.”

Keyleth looked at her tattooed arms, twisting ink depicting the natural forces and the elements patterned over her biceps, shoulders and chest and she hugged her leafy shawl around tighter with a smile on her face. 

“Right.” 

“Which of the Ashari are you, just out of curiosity?” Vex asked. 

“The Air Ashari.” 

“Well, you might be needing air before long,” Pike chuckled as she lead the way up a small winding path to where a red brick cottage sat waiting. “This is it. The Red House of Trickfoot. That’s who I am. Pike Trickfoot. I live here with my Great Great Grandfather, Wilhand. He won’t mind. It’s the other two you’re going to have to be careful about.” 

“If this is going to be a problem...” Vax tried again and was dismissed - again. 

“No problem. It’s the least I can do,” Pike laughed and walked into the house calling, “Pop-Pop? I’m back! Grog? Scanlan?” 

“Oi,” an answering call of acknowledgement came from a door that lead into the kitchen. 

“Visitors!” Pike stepped aside and held the door open for the Half-Elves who came in, expecting to have to duck.

To their surprise, the ceiling wasn’t too low down but it was near enough to their heads that they wanted to sit down quick before they felt claustrophobic. 

“You found new friends?” the same voice called back and then in the doorway appeared another Gnome, a handsome man wearing a low v-neck shirt of purple silk. He was wiping his hands with a cloth and he seemed to stare at the three Half-Elves with surprise.

Pike shut the door and presented them to him, “One of them is the druid that got arrested, remember?” 

“I remember you running off when nosy Parker next door stuck his nose through the window to tell us about it,” the other Gnome nodded, slinging the cloth over his shoulder and then leant somewhat seductively against the doorframe. 

“Well, here she is. This is Keyleth,” Pike said, patting the druid on the arm before nodding to the darker haired Half-Elves. “And these two are Vex and Vax.” 

“Hmm. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that with names and faces like yours,” the other Gnome murmured, checking to make sure his chest was still visible, “you guys are twins?” 

Vex’ahlia didn’t want to be impressed by the Gnome’s confidence in showing himself off but it didn’t help that he had the good looks to back that confidence up. 

“Impressive deduction,” she simply said in reply. 

“Any relation?” He wagged his finger between them and Keyleth. 

“No,” Vex replied, glancing at Keyleth, “we’ve just met.” 

“This is Scanlan. Scanlan Shorthalt,” Pike introduced and sighed with an unintentionally fond smile on her face. “He’s my... Uh... Well, we can’t seem to get rid of him, so...” 

“I’m one of Grog’s best friends and Pike’s future... you know,” Scanlan bowed, grinning as overflowing charisma poured off him in spades. “Potentially, anyway. The pleasure is yours!” 

Vax, despite himself, grinned back though he was always distrustful of strangers. “Quite the character, Mr Shorthalt.”

Scanlan laughed and rubbed his chest. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

“No, you really haven’t,” Pike muttered and then, a bit louder, added, “Where’s-?”

She didn’t need to finish the question. The ground shook and, scrambling through the tiny doorway behind Scanlan, much to the Half-Elves amazement, charged an enormous Goliath, wriggling to get through the gap between the walls without breaking anything, his face beaming away as he struggled to catch sight of Pike. 

“Pike!” he yelled in a thunderous voice. 

“Hey buddy!” Pike laughed, running and jumping up at his head which was pale and tattooed with thick black tribal lines, wrapping her arms around him and spinning to sit on his neck, rubbing his shoulders affectionately. 

“Did you save the badger?” the Goliath asked eagerly, looking around the room as though expecting to see it chewing on one of the chairs. 

“I did,” Pike nodded and pointed at the nervous druid. “Her name’s Keyleth.” 

“Aw,” his face fell, “is she not a badger no more?” 

“Sorry!” Keyleth immediately apologised although she wasn’t sure why. “People didn’t seem to like me being a badger in the city.” She tensed as the Goliath crawled over towards her, staring at her expectantly with the Gnome cleric on his back. 

“Can you be one now?” he grunted.

Poor Keyleth backed away and partly took cover behind Vax again, not really sure what she should do. Thankfully, Pike was there to save her once more. 

“Ah, perhaps later, Grog,” she said, reaching down and patting the Goliath’s jaw. 

“‘Kay.”

That was when they noted what was so strange about this particular Goliath: he had a full beard of black hair. In all their travelling and knowledge of the big bad world, they hadn’t heard of any Goliath able to grow any sort of hair, facial or otherwise. 

“This is Grog Strongjaw,” Pike said, glancing back up. “Don’t let his size worry you. Believe it or not, he used to be the runt of his herd. I say ‘used to be’ because if you ask me, he could kick any one of his old herd members all across Tal’Dorei and back. He’s kind of like my brother and best friend.” 

“ _One_ of your best friends, Pikey,” Scanlan corrected, walking over and dropping onto a lounger with one knee cocked up to the side. “I’m the other one.” 

“Of course,” smiled Pike and then beckoned to her guests. “Come make yourself at home.”


	3. “I’ve got a path to follow.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”  
> \- Henry IV, Part 2

As one of the servers came to take away a plate, there came a sad noise from one end of the table. 

“Another murder report,” Lady Cassandra said, reading from a note that a servant had handed her on a tray. She put down her cup of tea and shook her head. “I’m wondering if it’s just best we stay in Whitestone. Safer.” 

When there came no immediate reply, she lifted her head and glanced towards the window. Her brother was silhouetted against the light shining through, a tall graceful figure, staring out with his hands held behind his back. He was dressed in his informal clothes which consisted of a baggy sleeved white shirt and his black vest waistcoat, but he still managed to look noble and classy. Cassandra was almost jealous of him for that. 

“Percival?” she prompted.

Her answer came in the form of a sigh. “...They’re... _She’s_ still out there.” 

Cassandra’s eyes darkened and she dropped the letter back onto the silver tray, taking up her cup again to sip at the tea as she used her free hand to sweep the crumbs from her meal off her royal blue gown. 

“You want to blame every murder on them,” she said quietly. 

“Seems appropriate to,” Lord Percival nodded. “We’ve seen their work up close and we know what that woman can do.” 

“Don’t call her ‘that woman’,” Cassandra growled, glaring into her cup. “She’s no woman. She’s a monster. They all are.”

Percvial turned back from the window, adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his white locks of hair. 

“I know it’s safer to stay in the city but I don’t know if I can do it - those... _fiends_ might be here already,” he murmured, slowly approaching the lunch table. “Or on their way. Death has already struck this place enough and our people are frightened.” He sank into a chair beside her and leant back, shaking his head. “How long can we do this?” 

His younger sister replaced the cup in the saucer and took a steady breath as she turned her focus to her troubled older brother, her fingers reaching up and finding a spot on his jaw to stroke. 

“Until we find a solution,” she answered in a soft voice, feeling the coarse bristles of his stubble that he refused to grow into a proper beard just yet. “I know you’re scared. _I’m_ scared. Who knows if they’ll return to finish the job and collect what is theirs but...” Her trembling fingers stopped and she cupped her brother’s cheek, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You and I both know we have to stay strong for the people of Whitestone. We owe it to Mother and Father. And to the others.”

Percival took in her pale face, her worried blue eyes that matched his. He glanced at the shock of white that streaked her own hair and he felt a twinge of sadness in him. But for her sake, he smiled and mirrored her gesture, placing his hand against her face. 

“I fear what might become of me if I didn’t have you,” he told her.

A lump came to Cassandra’s throat. “...And I pray we never find out.”

* * *

Keyleth looked up sharply from her drink as a dark figure moved across the corner of her eye, momentarily blotting out the light from the window but she relaxed once she saw that it was Vax moving to sit beside her, offering her a plate of crackers and cheese which she gratefully accepted. She felt safe with the twins after the way they’d stepped in to help Pike bail her out of trouble although she couldn’t deny she was more than a little intimidated by Vex’ahlia’s confidence. Vax’ildan, however, seemed quieter and Keyleth appreciated that. 

“So you’re a way away from home, aren’t you?” he began, leaning forward on the settee.

Vax had made sure to be gentle, to move slowly and quietly, to talk calmly and softly, with Keyleth, as though she were a cat wary of strangers. The life of a Half-Elf could be harrowing in certain areas and he had yet to find out if the druid had suffered just as much prejudiced mistreatment as he and his sister had. 

“I’m from Zephrah,” nodded Keyleth. “I’m currently undergoing my Aramente but I was... side-tracked.” 

“By what?” 

Keyleth straightened her back. “The murders.” 

“You heard of the murders too?” asked Vex from one of the armchairs. The other conversations had come to a close and now attention reconvened on the main topic that took up most people’s minds these days.

Keyleth nodded. “The Ashari are connected to nature. We sensed that there was a serious unrest and someone is playing with forces they should not control. These events seem far too coincidental to ignore.” 

“And it’s the same sort?” Vax asked and flexed his fingers in gesture. “Mauling?”

Keyleth nibbles at her cracker and looked grim. 

“The victims appear to share the same murderer,” she told them. “Or murderer _s_ , if there are more than one. They are always torn apart, sometimes with their throats cut, sometimes missing body parts. Always terrible and gruesome. And always with a sad face, like a message, drawn nearby.” 

“It sounds about right,” Pike murmured, her face darkening. She looked at the twins as she explained, “Being a cleric of Sarenrae, a healer, I was one of those asked to... uh, examine the bodies when they were brought in. The first was a little boy. He was the _least_ torn apart, thank the gods. At least his family could recognise him.” She paused and looked like she was swallowing something down. “...Then there was a man, a local from the other end of town. He was missing his lower body and most of his jaw. Then the woman in the park, completely torn apart. I believe they’re still fishing bits of her out of the pond. People haven’t been to that park since, though the murders happened weeks ago.” 

Vex found her mouth open as she placed her drink on the table in the middle of the room. 

“It’s terrible. Who would do such a thing? To a mere child...?” 

“When did your people start having this unrest?” Vax asked Keyleth in a strained voice. Of all the injustices done in the world, Vax’ildan especially couldn’t bear it being done to a child. He had no pity, no remorse, for the people he killed should he find them guilty of child abuse. 

“It has been happening for a few years,” Keyleth replied. “Quiet, to begin with, like the little ripples on the edge of a lake, as though there _were_ murders but they were not part of a bigger picture. In the last year, however, they’ve been frequent and more violent. And they’ve been happening all over the place. Stillben, Vasselheim, Emon, even Draconia, we think. It’s why I came to Westruun in the first place. I’ve been trying to follow the path.” 

“Path?” Scanlan repeated from the footrest at Pike’s feet. He was twirling a flute around in his hands. 

“There IS a path,” Keyleth went on, her vivid green eyes shining. “The murders don’t happen in one place and then jump to another on the other side of the continent. They happen in cities and towns next to each another, as if the killer follows the road and moves to the next location on the map.” 

Vex frowned. “But that means a correlation could be found. Patterns. If they’ve left such an obvious lead, why has no-one caught them yet?”

From Pike there came a half-hearted chuckle. “Yes, isn’t _that_ the question of the century? It’s big enough to spark unrest all over Tal’Dorei. Next they’ll be rebellions and revolution.” 

“Like buffalo,” Grog suddenly said to himself. Once he realised that people had looked at him with questioning eyes, he cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. “When one of ‘em gets all scared and all that, they get jumpy and loud and that spooks the others. Then they’re _all_ jumpy and scared and kickin’ about an’ yellin’ and they go crazy and start runnin’ and breakin’ things and stuff.” 

“Stampeding,” Pike nodded in agreement.

Grog only knew a few species of hoofed herd animals and the stronger, ox-like animals in the mountainous regions in particular were a specialty of his. 

“Right. An’ you don’t even know what it was that spooked the first one to begin with.” 

“Well, thankfully, it doesn’t appear that the country has got that far yet.” Pike downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. “But unless the killer is caught and an enormous public announcement is made, no-one is going to settle.” 

“The cities are keeping their number cases quiet and secret from each other, likely to prevent something like a stampede happening,” Vex said. “It’s partly worked; we had no idea that this was an ongoing problem.” 

“The locals only know because they’ve been talking with people from other cities,” Vax added. “What happens when the city officials start barring anyone from leaving or entering?”

Scanlan looked into the fireplace, still twirling his flute around. “Then they’ll crack down on where the murderer is judging by which city keeps losing people. Unless our killer goes quiet for all that time.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to be taken well by the people,” Pike grumbled. 

“Yeah,” Scanlan nodded and stretched his arms, “either you’re stuck in a city without trade or you’re stuck in a city with a serial killer and, to be honest, neither of those sound great.” 

“Then what if the murderer isn’t in _any_ city?” Vex pointed out. “What if they’re roaming free in the wild disguised as a peddler or nomad?” 

Grog let out an audible growl. “Them little villages don’t have any fancy walls to keep people out.” 

Vax sighed and fell back against the settee. “That’s also true. What’ll protect _them_ from a murderer?” 

“It’s why I’ve come to this place,” Keyleth, next to him, pressed on earnestly. “Like I said, I am meant to be completing my Aramente but the Ashari have said that this situation is too disrupting. So now I am here investigating. I need to learn as much as I can so we can decide on a plan of attack.” 

“You mean, the Ashari are going to hunt down the killer?” Pike asked, raising her eyebrows at the druid. From what she had heard, the Ashari were peaceful and only became vicious when they protected their own and none of the four Ashari clans had an official military as they did not like to include themselves in warfare. 

“I don’t know what they will do. All I know is that nature is being poked with a very large sharp stick and it won’t take it anymore.” 

“This serial killer then...” said Vax in a quiet voice. “They’re not _just_ a murderer?” 

“I don’t think so. I think these murders are a part of something more. Something bigger, maybe.” 

“The fact that some bodies have parts missing, you mean?” Scanlan grimaced and then shuddered. “Do you think this killer is taking them for some ritual or...?” 

“I have no idea but it would make sense. All we know is that this constant unrest is disrupting our lives. We can no longer calm the portals to the elemental planes as quickly as we used to when they flare up and we can’t even sleep peacefully at night without nightmares. My people simply cannot settle until the problem, whatever it is, is fixed.”

Grog watched as she stood up and paced behind the settee in agitation. “So, you need to find the one doin’ all the killin’?”

Vax sat up straight, turning round to watch the druid pace. “But that’s... Surely that’s dangerous. You could easily become the next victim.” 

“I know.” Keyleth hugged herself and glanced towards the door. “But I can’t back out now. I’ve got a path to follow. Eventually, I’ll find the one responsible.” 

“Or they’ll find _you_ ,” Pike corrected darkly. “I agree with Vax, it’s too dangerous by yourself.” 

“What choice do I have? I can’t go home if life can’t move on. And I need to take _some_ kind of information back to them otherwise what can _they_ do?”

Vex stroked her chin thoughtfully, eyeing her brother and how he looked first at Keyleth and then to her. Usually, when a decision needed to be made, Vex and Vax were on the same page and could communicate with only a look but this time there seemed to be mixed messages and neither could be sure what the other was thinking.

With a sharp nod, Vex signalled to him to join her in standing mysteriously by the far wall for a private conversation. 

“We’ve only just met the girl and I can tell you already want to go and solve this mystery of hers,” started Vex in a whisper before Vax had finished walking, ignoring the looks of curiosity that the others were sending in their direction. “Where did that bird-brained idea come from?” 

“Well of course I’d prefer _not_ to, Vex,” her brother whispered back, “I’d much rather she took an entire army of fighters with her but do you see an army on me?” 

Vex huffed and rolled her eyes. 

“For starters, ditch the army. She’s going to need stealth and espionage to...” She sighed and rubbed her eyes, realising their position while Vax smirked at her in a smug fashion. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. But... we’re idle at the moment,” he told her gently, dropping his smirk. “We said we’d choose a place to settle for a bit and we haven’t done that yet. We keep going from town to town and city to city and we’ve done nothing but dig up dirt and get into trouble. And I’m torn because I don’t want you anywhere near a murderer but at the same time I don’t like the idea of her going off on her own-” 

“Alright. Enough,” Vex chuckled lightly. “You’ve done your pitch.” 

Vax smiled at her and then looked back towards Keyleth. 

“You need support,” he said.

Keyleth had taken her staff in both hands by this time but now her hold on it loosened and she almost dropped it as her jaw opened and she looked around at the twins, her face softening into a look of surprise. 

“...Are you saying you’ll...?” 

“Well we’re not liking the idea of you wandering off alone to possibly wrestle with a deranged murderer who likes to tear their victims apart and leave little faces by your corpse. Even _if_ all you’re intending to do is get information,” Vex told her, planting her hands on her hips. “Do you have an idea of where they might be heading next?”

Keyleth recovered from her brief surprise and dug around inside her tunic for a map. She came forward and spread it on the table in the middle of the room, pointing a finger and saying, “From what I know, the most recent murders have happened at the Turst Fields. I was here in Westruun when I found out.” 

“So they’re heading north?” Pike said, leaning forward. 

“What else is north?” asked Vax.

Scanlan was the one to answer him. “The Umbar Hills are north, aren’t they? Mind you, if they’ve struck the Turst Fields then they’re obviously going in a different direction. More northeast.” 

“I would say we head for the Turst Fields at least,” Vex decided. “See what we can find there.” 

“What, just like that?” Scanlan laughed. “Just going to go sailing off with a badger to go catch a killer?” All eyes looked at him, each one saying far more than words could. He shrugged again and pocketed his flute. “Fair play.” 

“And the rest of us?” asked Pike expectantly. 

Vex and Vax took a moment to exchange a glance and then frowned curiously at the Gnome. 

“Oh you don’t expect the rest of us to sit back and either wait to hear of your success or your untimely death, do you?” she told them, translating the look. “If someone is finally doing something about these murders, I want to be involved.” 

“That’s our Pike.”

The Half-Elves whipped around in alarm to find that a _third_ Gnome, elderly and hunched, was sat in the corner by himself, chewing away at some food. 

“How long have you been there, Wilhand?” Scanlan asked, faintly amused by such a startled reaction from what was supposed to be a very perceptive race of people. 

“A few hours. I got hungry,” old Wilhand Trickfoot said, hopping off his seat and shuffling to the kitchen. Pike and Grog didn’t look as though they’d even noticed him. 

“Anyway,” sighed Scanlan, “Pike, my love, are you certain you want to leave the safety of Westruun and go chasing after a killer? I often used to think that Grog acted that way because of his nature as a Goliath but now I’m beginning to suspect that he’s learnt from you.” 

“Hee hee, little monstah,” Grog whispered and grinned, fist-bumping the white-haired Gnome with a delighted smile on his face. 

“All I’m saying is,” Pike replied while returning the fist-bump, “someone should be helping them. Vex and Vax hadn’t any idea about the murders until today and Keyleth has already managed to get herself arrested.” 

“An accident,” Keyleth piped up in protest, still staring at where Wilhand had been sat as though not entirely sure if she’d imagined him or not. 

“Besides, Westruun isn’t exactly as safe as you’re claiming it is,” Pike sighed. “If there’s any possibility that there’s more than one killer, there’s no reason to say that they haven’t left an accomplice behind to keep an eye on things. If this is intended as a statement, then maybe there’s someone else here to watch the reactions and report in. We can’t be ignorant and say that Westruun is safe now because there’s been no reported murder for a while.” 

Scanlan groaned and rubbed his hands into his eyes. 

“Oh the things you do for love...” he murmured quietly. He then straightened up and rose to his feet, arching his back and planting his fists on his hips. “Right, I guess there’s nothing more to be argued about. You three are going to need back-up and, fortunately for you, Grog and I specialise in back-up.” 

“Even though _I_ like bein’ front-up,” Grog pouted. “Get right in there with my axe and open up their-” 

“Thank you Grog. So, you’ve got a couple of Gnomes and a Goliath. You need anything more?” 

“Really?” Vax looked surprised. 

“No, I was only joking. I’m actually going to go back to bed, eagerly awaiting the news that you’ve beaten up a mass murderer and saved Tal’Dorei.”

* * *

“ _I feel like I’ve learnt so much and yet I know nothing! ~~Thi-~~ These things take time, that’s what all experts say but I’m just so ready to discover new information and finally put my skills to good use! Patience. That’s what I get told. It’s all about patience. But I can’t! I try and ~~try~~ I try but it’s so hard!_

_It is the strangest thing but I don’t feel like I used to be like this. I used to be so much more calm but, lately, I’ve been getting hungry for answers and when it’s almost there, almost within your grasp, that’s when I find it the hardest to settle. Seeing an wrapped gift doesn’t make one patient - it makes you want to tear it open to find out what’s inside! It makes you even more excited!_

_As for the exact nature of this work, I am not ~~cretain~~ certain. I have only been told that it will change the way we understand ourselves and that, in turn, will help us move on in life and open the way to further progress. It doesn’t make a great deal of sense to me but I trust to leave these to the ones with brains capable of making sense of it._

_I broke a glass vial today, by the way. It made me so cross! We can’t afford delays._ ”


	4. “But you do meddle with things.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lord what fools these mortals be!”  
> \- A Midsummer Night’s Dream

The party of new acquaintances spent one last night in Westruun in the Red House of Trickfoot, singing to Scanlan’s songs and watching and laughing as Grog wrestled Pike and Keyleth in tiger form (careful to cover the windows beforehand) before planning to set out the next day once supplies were sorted. 

In that time, they were introduced properly to Pike’s Great Great Grandfather, Wilhand, who seemed to possess a keen insight and awareness for someone thought to be so old and frail. He was a gentle soul but the embers of a long-lived furnace still smouldered in his eyes. His wisps of silver hair were always gently picking up the slightest draught in the house and so he crept silently around with an almost ethereal presence. Before they were all found places to sleep for the night, Wilhand quietly emerged and slowly deposited himself into the large leather chair that no-one had dared sit in before, looking at each of the newcomers in turn with a knowing expression.

He had lived so long that he had met a few Half-Elves in his time and one of the first things he asked of them was their preferred race, for some, he had said, would choose to either be called an Elf or a Human and nothing else while others proudly accepted the slightly demeaning Half-Elven title of _Othlir_. The twins, for personal reasons, and Keyleth, because she had no personal reasons at all, asked to be called Half-Elves and only that. Wilhand had smiled and nodded and had hopped back out of his chair and shuffled away again without any further comment. They hoped they might be able to see him again one day. 

Pike wasn’t sure if the whole lot of them leaving en masse was the wisest idea and if there really was the chance of cities shutting their gates, it was a risk in itself to leave without keeping someone on the inside. So she had decided to stay longer in Westruun, keeping peace among the people, keeping her ear open to any further news coming in and keeping her eyes peeled for any sign that a murderer had chosen to return to old hunting grounds.

As for Scanlan, he thought it might be productive to snoop around any of the other neighbouring villages and towns, maybe talk to wandering road-travellers to hear if they’d heard anything and backtrack to the cities to dig up the older murder cases. Grog agreed to go with him, knowing full well that Pike could handle herself in Westruun but that Scanlan might need a bit of protection when out wandering the wilds where a killer was on the loose. 

The Half-Elves stuck together. Vex and Vax made imposing bodyguards to the Ashari druid although they had the suspicion that Keyleth was more than a match for anyone by herself and that there was a great deal of power hiding behind her innocent eyes. Their path was the one heading for the Turst Fields, hopefully hot on the heels of the murderer and the plan was for everyone to eventually meet there unless significant evidence suggested it more logical to travel elsewhere. 

They decided that their best method of staying in contact with one another was through the use of a form of Sending Stone, which only allowed brief audio communication. They also only had two of the things so it was going to be tricky trying to coordinate movements but some form of communication was better than no communication. Scanlan took one and Pike gave the other to Keyleth. After all, if any of them were going to run the risk of falling into trouble and needing to call for help, it was one of the two groups leaving Westruun.

Of course, the whole group had to meet Trinket, patiently and obediently waiting outside the walls which he had only left in order to find some food in the forest, on his very best behaviour. Vex’ahlia made a great show of showering the bear in love and praise for being ‘such a good boy’ while in visible and audible range of the guards at the gate. Naturally, the guards ignored them. 

“Don’t go getting yourselves killed,” Pike warned them, giving each of them a motherly hug and pretending that she hadn’t meant to give Scanlan a kiss on the cheek. 

“I don’t plan to while I’m young,” Vax’ildan replied, scratching the back of his neck. 

And so they split off, Scanlan and Grog going one way and Keyleth and the Twins heading in another while Pike stood before the gates of Westruun, hands on her sides, promising to join with them once they had discovered just who this murderer really was as guilt gnawed away at her.

She had been telling the truth when she said that she had wanted to help whoever was doing something towards solving the problem, she told herself. She should have told them about her own dreams as of late. The dark visions that Sarenrae had warned her with. Of all of them, Pike was the one who was almost entirely sure that what they were chasing was not just a killer...

* * *

Late, late, late. She did this on purpose. She kept him waiting. Kept him on _her_ terms. It was nothing but insulting. 

The trees, often so tall and proud, we’re now bowed as though their limbs were far too burdensome to keep aloft, as though the wind was just too tiresome, too rough with their leaves and the bark of their trunks was cracked, like dry skin, dark tree sap bleeding from the wounds. These were not tall, proud trees anymore. These were weary trees. They were sick. 

The world was sick too. Diseased and plagued with parasites.

Parasites like Humans. 

“There’s too many of them,” hissed the Arch Fey, singing to himself. “Too many Humans. They keep breeding and multiplying. Get anywhere. Everywhere. Every continent. Forest to mountain to desert to plain, the air, the ocean, the sub terrain... Material plane, Elemental Plane, even to Hell...” Another hiss. “And now the Feywild, my home, my domain...”

The song trailed off as the tree he was nestled in creaked and moaned, suffering under the cancerous disease that the Arch Fey excreted from his very being. 

Late, late, late...

His head whipped around at a speed that would snap the neck of an ordinary mortal when he heard an approaching step. Too heavy to be an Elf or a Halfling but too light to be a Dwarf or an Orc. 

Human.

Would that he never had the misfortune of meeting one. More would he wish that he had never needed to depend on one to help him. A Human was too proud as it was. Elves and Dragonborn were prideful by nature, certainly, but at least their pride was justified. What did Humans have to be proud of? They were weak, easily corrupted, manipulative and just as commonly manipulated in return. 

They also bred like rabbits and due to their bizarre fertile compatibility, they weren’t fussed with sticking to their own races in doing so. Half-Elves and Half-Orcs were the common by-products, of course, but then there were those unbelievable old folk stories and myths that said that Goliaths came about by the union of a Human and a Giantess and that the Dragonborn were the descended offspring of a Human and a _Dragon_...

The thought was laughable but no-one would put it past a Human to achieve something that outrageous. They were ambitious and curious and experimental. That made them dangerous.

Saundor bared his ichor stained teeth and tightened the vines around his shoulders as the Human came to stand before the unfortunate tree that had been chosen to hold him. For all the braying he had done about Human weakness, this one was a sinister looking creature and the last thing anyone should consider doing was underestimating her. 

“You weren’t waiting too long, were you?” she asked in a voice that would chill a lesser creature. 

“Late!” Saundor snarled, rising up into the branches imposingly. 

“Fashionably,” smiled the woman. She only recognised this behaviour as one would recognise a terrified house cat arching it’s back so as to be intimidating. It took a lot to intimidate _her_. “I’m a busy lady and not all of us have the luxury of lounging in poisonous treetops. Speaking of which... Don’t you think this poor tree has suffered you enough? It looks as though it might topple should something hit it.” 

“You are indebted to me.” 

“Yes, I hadn’t forgotten.” 

The Arch Fey stepped forward into the air and allowed the vines to slowly lower him down the trunk of the tree so he was at eye level with her. 

“The Bramblewood will soon be mine,” he said, tilting his head, “I desire another forest after.” 

“Already so wealthy when it comes to trees, Saundor,” the woman said, her smile still sickeningly sweet as she reached towards the trunk of the tree nearest her and flicked a piece of bark clean off without any effort. “What more could you possibly want?” 

“The Parchwood.” 

Black hair snaked over her shoulder as she turned towards the Fey with a gleam of surprised delight in her eyes. 

“...You mean Whitestone’s forest?” she grinned. “Those tree roots get nutrients from arcane ley lines, my friend. If you want them, it’ll be a costly price.” 

“Open up a way to the Parchwood for me and I will give you more of my essence for your magic potions,” Saundor said, his long crooked fingers reaching out to grasp at the air, imagining the woman’s pretty throat in his grasp. 

“You are mistaken,” his Human partner murmured, “I do not make magic potions. Childish thing to call them.” 

“But you do meddle with things.” 

“It is what I’m good at.” She looked pleased with herself and held out her hand. “Now, for the Bramblewood?”

With another hiss of disproval, Saundor pushed apart his crackled bark skin around his chest and a vial containing a dark tar-like substance appeared. The vines that coiled around him began to squirm and wriggle as they came to take the vial, passing it along into his hands whereupon he held it between his thumb and forefinger, dangling it like a carrot on a string before the face of the woman. 

Before taking it, she seemed to examine the contents, eyeing the liquid. It almost looked like coagulating blood except it was much darker, almost black or dark green. She seemed to be pleased, however, for she pulled a makeshift glove onto her metal clawed right hand and took the vial, wrapping it in cloth and pocketing it inside her jacket without further hesitation. 

“...You will bring your own downfall, Anna Ripley,” spoke the Arch Fey, pulling himself up slowly into the tree, preparing to vanish into the bark. “Humans always do.”

The woman laughed and had the gall to turn her back to him. 

“And yet we always survive. I’ll be seeing you soon, Saundor. Try not to miss me too much.” 

Her form vanished into the darkness of the Bramblewood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a shorter chapter to close my ‘prologue’ stage of the story. Now the plot can get going properly.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments so far. 
> 
> The support means more motivation to keep going.


	5. “We only see half the picture.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides...”  
> \- King Lear

There was a light on the path ahead, partially dimmed by the volume of shrubs and other foliage, but a welcome sight nonetheless when the sun had set and twilight was settling in and you weren’t sure how safe the roads were anymore.

Scanlan and Grog had managed to casually drop into conversation with a couple of travellers on their way west, but hadn’t been able to glean more information than they already knew. Now with a new potential source, they both slowly approached, one significantly more softer than the other, and stopped short of about five meters. 

“Leave the talking to me, Grog,” Scanlan murmured, pushing back his hair into his signature ponytail. 

“So long as you leave the fightin’ to _me_ ,” Grog grinned back and he patted the handle of his faithful axe. 

Scanlan was fond of the big chump; he never ceased to make him smile. 

“Well, with any luck, we won’t need to fight anything.” 

“...Not even a little bit?” 

“Come on,” the Gnome said, opening up his shirt a bit at the front so that more chest was visible. Depending on the company, he could easily alter a few things to change tactic in a hurry. “Back me up and try not to look scary unless I give the signal.” 

“Right,” Grog nodded. “What’s that then?” 

“Something along the lines of ‘help me, Grog’ or something similar to that format.” 

“Man, that’s not gonna sound very impressive.” 

“Yes, but this will be coming from the mouth of yours truly.” Scanlan flashed his flawless smile and mustered up every ounce of charm he had. “Now watch the master at work.”

The light of the fire became brighter as they neared a small camp of some kind. It looked to be temporary due to the lack of tents and the three occupants, all Dwarves, appeared to have only stopped for something to eat.

They immediately reached for their weapons and one got to their feet as Scanlan appeared in their midst with a fearsome looking half-giant close on his heel. 

“Ho! Friends!” the Gnome was calling cheerfully. “Hello? Ah, no need for panic!” 

The Dwarf that had got up, a man, tightened his hold of his war-hammer. 

“Who the hell are you?” he barked. His voice was gravelled and was spoken with the common accent of most Dwarves of the north kingdoms. 

“I am a mere wandering Gnome,” said Scanlan, pulling the beret off his head and falling into a bow, all in one sweep. “The Goliath here is my protection. We saw your fire and hoped for a little companionship while we stopped for some food. Grog is good for a few laughs but a conversationalist, he is not. Gets bored of it, don’t you?”

Grog opened and shut his mouth a few times, wondering if he was supposed to do anything. He’d specifically been listening out for the signal of ‘help me Grog’ so he could get scary but that hadn’t sounded like it at all. 

“Eh,” the male Dwarf grunted, “you’re welcome to use the fire while we’re here, I suppose. Unlikely we’ll be long.” He looked to his two companions, both women, who seemed to nod at him in confirmation. 

“Why thank you! Much kindness,” Scanlan beamed, practically gliding over the grass to sit by the fire between the women, his chin high. “Your hospitality I will wish to repay.” He heard Grog park down a little way behind him. 

One of the women, a paler She-Dwarf with fiery curls, raised her eyebrow at the Gnome. 

“You’re a bard?” she noted to which Scanlan smirked. 

“Did my impressively large instrument give me away? I assure you, it is finely tuned to please just about anyone.” He chuckled and placed the beret back on his head. “Scanlan Shorthalt, at _your_ service. This, as I’ve mentioned, is Grog. Grog Strongjaw. Don’t let the beard fool you, he’s as Goliath as they come. Just a big fan of your Dwarven-kind hair, you know.” 

“Funny pair you make,” the He-Dwarf felt the need to comment. 

“Comedy is on my list of talents, it is true,” Scanlan nodded. “Tell me, mister and maidens, do you have names?”

Said the Dwarf man, “Bhelmor Stockroad.” 

“Tizri Stockroad,” said the first woman, cracking her fingers of her left hand to make it obvious to the strangers that the band she wore there was a clear indication that Bhelmor was her husband.

The second woman, the paler one possessing the more copper coloured hair, was slightly younger and she leant back and smiled. 

“I’m Tazma, her sister,” she said and waved with her own ring-less left hand. “ _Un_ married.” 

“A pleasure, a pleasure,” Scanlan smiled back, smoothly glossing over that last part. “Say hello, Grog.”

_No, that wasn’t the signal either..._

“Hullo...” Grog mumbled obediently, looking about at the collection of small people. 

“We shan’t be trouble, this I can promise. Please, carry on as you were.” 

“Well, if you’re a musician, Mr Shorthalt,” Tazma said as she reclined on the grass, “won’t you pleasure us with some of your musical wares?” 

Her sister shot her a disproving look. 

“Tazma! Learn a little shrewdness every once in a while.” 

“Nothing wrong with requesting a song from a song-giver, is there Mr Shorthalt?” 

“Certainly not!” agreed Scanlan, already reaching for his shawm and his lute. “Especially from a lady. Name your song, miss, and I shall play.”

Years of practice had fashioned Scanlan with fingers that could pull a tune from any string and a voice that could worm its way into the dullest of hearts. He sat and pleased his audience with three songs and an original piece of music that could have been written by a celestial of Elysium. The Dwarves listened in silence, overcome with the power that Scanlan possessed while Grog sat in the background, keeping an eye on the area, appreciating that his friend’s talents were worthy of being admired, even if they weren’t violent. 

As the last piece came to a gentle close, the Dwarves politely and quietly clapped. 

“I’ll admit I had my doubts but you’ve proven yourself quite the musician, Gnome. I am impressed,” Tizri said, almost looking sorry that the performance was over. 

“Yes, I agree,” nodded her husband and immediately plunged his hand into the pouch at his side. “Here, I feel it’s worthy of some gold.” 

“Oh kind Dwarves, I feel I’ve hardly earned this,” Scanlan gushed with practised modesty as a few gold coins were passed to him. “Playing music brings me joy and I do it as much for myself as I do for anyone else. But I thank you. Every coin goes to keeping the instrument in perfect condition.” 

“Have you a significant other, Mr Shorthalt?” Tazma had been _very_ taken by the music, it seemed. 

“Tazma...” Bhelmor warned after he had given over the money. 

“Let me make conversation!” Tazma snapped crossly and resumed her cool demeanour as she returned her attention to Scanlan. “Well? Any Shorthalts awaiting a handsome husband back home?” 

“Alas,” sighed Scanlan, stroking the strings of the lute, “she appears to await me only in the future.” 

“That surprises me. With your talent, I imagine you have all sorts swooning at your feet.” 

“Worry not! Grog can carry me over many a swooned head if the situation must come to it.”

Tazma passed a glance to the Goliath. “Your bodyguard, yes?” 

“Bodyguard and best friend,” Scanlan confirmed. “Isn’t that right Grog?” 

“Yeah!” Grog grinned, looking proud. 

“Of course, more than anything, he’s been a great comfort,” continued Scanlan, glad that the opportunity had come. “What with these ghastly talks of murder all over the place, someone as capable as he is makes me feel a little safer on the road.” 

“Ugh, the murders...” Tizri grimaced. “Can’t go anywhere without hearing of them. I’ll be glad to be back north.”

Scanlan carefully put his lute to the ground. “No murders where you are from?” 

“Of course not. Kraghammer is far too well guarded to allow a petty serial killer in.”

That seemed to make Scanlan’s mouth twitch disapprovingly. 

“...I wouldn’t call them ‘petty’. Their work has proved gruesome. NOT the sort to sing about at all.” 

“I heard about the murders when we were in the Turst Fields,” Bhelmor said. “I agree it’s nasty business. It takes a lot for a Dwarf to say when something is unnecessarily violent.” 

“How many were killed in Turst Fields?” Scanlan asked.

Bhelmor looked thoughtful and turned to his wife and sister-in-law for clarification. “What was it...? Five people?”

Tizri nodded. “Yes. Two were known thugs so there was little pity for them but the other three were apparently innocents.” 

“And they were characteristically victims of the murderer?” Scanlan asked without any trace of joviality. “Torn up and...” 

“Afraid so,” Bhelmor mumbled with a dark face. “Bloody, gruesome work. Bits scattered about, some parts missing altogether.”

Tazma leaned closer to the Gnome. “Who do you think did it, Mr Shorthalt? Does this sound like a villain from one of your musical stories?”

Scanlan heard Grog stir behind him as his expression hardened. 

“It almost sounds worse.”

They stayed with the Dwarven family for an hour longer before urgency pushed Scanlan and Grog to make their farewells, decline offers for further contact, and leave for Kymal. The five bodies in the Turst Fields would have to be left to the others’ investigation until they could regroup later.

* * *

The Half-Elves had made good time and had almost reached the Turst Fields around the time that Scanlan and Grog were nearing Kymal. 

Last night had been spent chatting politely around a campfire and eating food and while Vex had cuddled into her beloved bear, she had watched her brother and Keyleth getting to know each other better. 

It turned out that Keyleth was what some liked to call a Second Degree Half-Elf which meant that both her parents were Half-Elven themselves. Since Elven blood was a little stronger than Human blood, she had mused, she wondered if, should she take a Half-Elven lover, there was a chance that her offspring or even her grandchildren could be born full Elven. 

Vax pretended not to hear his sister murmur something sarcastic and crude (that sounded along the lines of “two halves make-eth a whole”) and while he was doubtful of the chances of that happening, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“What about you?” Keyleth had asked, not making it clear if she had also heard Vex’s murmurings or not. “What degree of Half-Elf are you?” 

“ _Very_ ,” Vax told her, scratching at his neck again. “Our father is Elven and Mother is- was Human.” 

“Oh, pure Half-Elf then!” Keyleth beamed, her face lighting up with such delight that Vax, for the first time in his life, felt good about himself while she babbled on like an excited child, “Original too. I know some Half-Elves who were the children of Elves and other races - I had a friend who had an Elven mother and a Dwarven father! - but I’m pretty sure the first Half-Elves came from _Humans_ and Elves. One of the Ashari elders said it’s because it’s easier to breed from Humans. They said that Humans are like water because you can mix water with practically any drink and it’ll still be drinkable - just diluted somewhat. Milk and ale, on the other hand, is less likely to be drinkable but that doesn’t mean that some won’t achieve it. It just needs a bit more work to get down. I guess it depends on how much you like or dislike Humans, doesn’t it?” 

“Apparently,” Vex sighed to herself, scratching Trinket’s ears after Keyleth’s chatter. “Seems like they’re an attractive race to all sorts.” 

She thought bitterly about her father - hadn’t been married at the time so it wasn’t like he’d been adulterous and had been unfaithful to a spouse but it seemed even _he_ couldn’t keep his hands off a Human. It wasn’t fair to say that he’d abandoned their mother with two children because, as far as the twins knew, their mother hadn’t told him about them. Probably because she knew he’d try and take them away.

Vax’s face became sullen. 

“Wish we HAD been born full Human,” he said in a deep tone of voice. “Then we could have stayed with Mother.”

And that was how Keyleth came to learn the story of Vex and Vax which did not particularly leave her in a positive mood. She wasn’t so sheltered as some people thought her and she was aware that not all Half-Elves had much of a good life when growing up among Elvish societies but as one of the Ashari, it was easy to forget at times. First Degree Half-Elves were doomed to outlive their Human parent and die before their Elven one but the twins’ time with _their_ Human parent appeared to have been severed even shorter than that.

In that way... she could empathise.

“What was your mother like?” she then asked, holding her knees.

“Mother was strong,” Vax told her, a smile coming to his face as he glanced in his sister’s direction briefly. “She looked after us all by herself in Byroden which couldn’t have been easy.” 

“And we were happy,” Vex added, “even though funds were short sometimes. Mother made sure we never went hungry and we had everything we needed.”

Keyleth thought of her own mother and then life alone with her father. She found it hard to imagine a parent wanting to have little involvement in their child’s life but, she supposed, it wasn’t unheard of. Sadly. 

“When he found out about us, Syldor sent a little coin occasionally to help out, I suppose,” Vax then said, “but I think he was hoping it would go towards an education or something.” 

“Syldor?” 

“ _That’s_ our father,” Vax’ildan sneered. “Not that he acted like one during the first few years. He eventually couldn’t stand the thought of anyone of his blood living outside of Syngorn so he sent for us to live with him.” 

“Which meant we weren’t there when Mother died.” Vex’s breath made a funny hiccup sound and Vax reached out a hand to grasp his sister’s fingers, squeezing them gently. Trinket lifted his head and mournfully growled. 

“I’m sorry life has dealt unfairly with you,” said Keyleth, struggling to rid her mind of her own loss, but Vex was already smiling at her. 

“Yeah. It sucks. But when you’ve hit the bottom of the well, the only direction to go in is up, right?” Even if you’ve broken several bones from falling, there’s no denying your options.” 

“Either lie there and die or wait until you’ve healed enough to start climbing out,” agreed her brother. “I think we’ve made pretty good progress in our climb.” 

“There _were_ a few slip-backs to begin with.” 

“Every climb has slip-backs.”

Keyleth became very quiet and could only nod as her mind mulled over their words.

* * *

Pike poured through her notes that she’d taken when she’d been called to look at the bodies. As a War Cleric, Pike’s knowledge on especially violent injuries was almost unmatched in Westruun but she didn’t feel particularly proud of that given the circumstances.

The young boy Christopher‘s death had been especially upsetting and Pike still wrestled with her thoughts at night when she lay in bed worrying for the Marmaduke family and wondering if she could possibly try some kind of resurrection ritual on him. Her power was limited and she hadn’t all the components that she needed but perhaps they could call in another cleric or...

Pike fell forward on her desk with a sigh. Death was a natural part of life and yet it felt so _un_ natural at the same time. There were people out there who hated endings and Pike could understand why. There was no heavier feeling than ‘The End’.

Which is why she lifted her head back up, settled a frown on her face and began to reread her notes. 

“Come on, there’s got to be a link between these victims. Some sort of trend... Is the murderer really just killing at random?” 

“Pike? Are you talking to yourself, dear?” Old Wilhand knocked at her door. 

“Oh, yes,” Pike called, hurrying over to open the door for the older Gnome. “Just thinking out loud.” 

“Thinking about those poor murdered souls,” Wilhand mumbled, shuffling in through the door with a tray of tea in his hands. “You’re a good girl.” 

“I’d much rather be doing something about it, though,” Pike admitted, clearing space on her desk for the tray. “And I know I told them that I’d stay here and keep an eye on things but I want to be out there. I want to find who’s responsible and make them...” She broke off as she realised her tone was angry and cold. 

“Pay?” Wilhand blinked at his great great granddaughter, his voice warm and kind which only served to make his words hurt more. “Suffer?” 

“...Sarenrae must be disappointed in me,” Pike snuffed and fell in to her chair at her desk, her vision swimming as tears welled up in her eyes. 

Wilhand moved aside some books and sat down on the edge of Pike’s bed, leaning his hands on his frail knees. 

“You feel the pain of others, my dear,” he said, his eyes creasing as he smiled sympathetically. “Even the Everlight gets angry. But healing and redemption are her most admiring qualities and that is what shines the brighter. Some are not deserving of that loving redemption.”

Pike gripped her desk with a frown. “I thought we were to assume that everyone had good in them. That everyone was worth saving.” 

“And they are, Pike. They are. Never forget that.” Wilhand’s face grew solemn. “But some bury their goodness away. So deep and so far down that they struggle to find it again and eventually they give up looking completely. They find something else to substitute it with and they call _that_ ‘good’ instead. In that case, the only place to find their lost goodness is in death, when they are able to see their actions and deeds for what they are and either strive to correct themselves or they accept the consequences.” 

“Then you don’t think it is foolish to believe that this murderer has goodness in them?” There was a long pause in which nothing was said and Pike turned around to see if her grandfather had fallen asleep. He was, in fact, awake and staring at the wall with a peculiar expression. “...Papa Wilhand?” 

“...We are only Gnomes. And I do not say that to be insulting to our kind.” Wilhand rose and stood beside Pike, stroking her shoulder. “I say that because we are just like every other race in Exandria - we only see half the picture. It is easy to point at a criminal and call them a villain just as it is easy for a mouse to point at a cat and call it a monster.” 

“Then you are saying that there must be a reason for the killings? That it isn’t just senseless violence?” 

“If there is a reason, I’m sure I can’t think what it is. Perhaps it is a sad soul taking out their frustration on the world. Perhaps it is someone who seeks revenge. Perhaps they are simply satisfying their own thirst for information.” Wilhand looked around the room with tired eyes and a strange sort of smile appeared. “...Or perhaps they are just mad!” 

“Aren’t we all?” Pike tried smiling too but it was a very weak effort. 

“Tell me, Pike, what you have learned,” asked Wilhand. “Sometimes talking about your findings helps one understand them better.” 

“Well, the most I have found is that there is little if any link between the victims. The most significant thing that I keep coming back to is how each victim was treated. Madame Lorina, the third victim, was considerably worse off than Christopher Marmaduke, the first one.” 

“Ah, always a shame when a child is killed,” said Wilhand, shaking his head in remorse. “All that potential...” 

“I know...” Pike swallowed. “But comparing the bodies, the boy seemed to be almost... spared? His injuries were almost nothing compared to the other two.”

Wilhand hummed and went to retrieve the tray from Pike’s desk. 

“Well, a pretty pickle that we have ourselves,” he commented. “At least you know that this killer finds less amusement in desecrating a child’s body than it does an adult’s.”

With the tray clasped in his wrinkled hands, Wilhand Trickfoot left the room, murmuring prayers to Sarenrae under his breath while Pike found solace in staring at the winding grain of the wood that her desk had been built from. More questions arose than answers and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something obvious was staring her in the face. 

... _less amusement in desecrating a child’s body..._

Her finger traced a spiralling line as it wove round into a dark knot and noted the two secondary lines also feeding into it so that it’s brown twisting pattern resembled a shadowy face with disproportioned features. 

“So why did Christopher have to die?” she asked it, not expecting the knot to respond. Her voice hushed into a whisper. “...What did Christopher do... or what did he _see_?”


	6. “Visitors, I take it?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.”  
> \- Henry V

A torch on the wall flickered momentarily as Casandra de Rolo walked past and her shadow danced slightly on the hallway curtains but she didn’t notice. She was too focused on seeking out her brother’s room which she could navigate her way to in the dark without trouble after many years of late-night childhood was spent playfully sneaking into one another’s rooms when they were supposed to be sleeping. 

Neither she nor Percival had wanted to change rooms after their ascension into the Lord and Lady of Whitestone. To them, their mother and father’s room was _still_ their mother and father’s room and it was to be left alone until one of them got married. So, for now, they remained in their old rooms along the corridor where all the de Rolo children had slept. Percival’s room was the one nearest the tower staircase.

 _Tap tap tap_ went Cassandra’s delicate fingers on the door and she waited for only a moment before letting herself in.

Percy was on his bed, curled up on his right side and he was still in his travelling clothes. Only his blue coat had been discarded on the chair at his desk. As Cassandra came in, he lifted himself up and sat cross-legged against the pillows, staring wildly at his sister as though he were seeing his mother coming in to scold him.

He responded as such too, it seemed. 

“I’m sorry, I should have listened...” 

“Brother,” Cass soothed, holding out her hands, “please...” 

“No, it’s my fault,” Percy interrupted with a vicious shake of his head. “We should have stayed in Whitestone like you suggested, I see that now, but I...” He gestured for words but they failed him and he was left silently pushing his trembling hands through his hair and then repeating the action, agitation dictating his pent up energy over anything else.

In the early days of their rule, Percival and Cassandra had tried keeping up the calm and dignified noble persona for as long as possible, even when they were alone with each other, but that hadn’t lasted and as the years had passed by, the brother and sister had eventually dropped their airs and graces when it was only themselves in the room. So, resorting to her young childish days by pulling out the pins that were keeping her hair up in an elegant style and giving it a shake over her shoulders, Cass dropped her stiffness and shuffled towards the four-poster bed, clambering over the footboard and rolling onto the sheets, eventually crawling over to her brother to slump down on the pillows beside him, not caring that she was creasing her clothes. 

“The thought of the Briarwoods still roaming around out there gnaws at my conscience too and I can sympathise that staying here might drive one mad,” she said, hoisting her knees in the air so she could push her feet into the bed to arch her back in an attempt to stretch out the stiffness. With her dress on, her mother and father wouldn’t have called it very good behaviour and it wasn’t lady-like at all. 

Percy didn’t care. He sighed and fell back next to her, almost hitting his head on the headboard. 

“...We did try to keep a low profile, didn’t we?” he mumbled in reference to their last trip. “I tried keeping away.”

Cass turned her head and lowered her back.

“Did you sense any of them? I know _I_ felt unease.” She rolled onto her side and found his arm to cuddle as she looked upset. “I... maybe I should do something more. I’m not helping any situation...”

Percy smacked her on the leg with the arm she was trying to cuddle. “You’re helping more than you can know. I’m only sorry that so much responsibility has had to be put on your shoulders.” 

“I endure it proudly,” she said and stuck her tongue out at him before growing serious again. “Percival, if we do stay here in Whitestone, will you be alright?” 

She could hear him take several deep breaths and with her fingers she found his racing pulse in his wrist. 

“I will be fine,” he said. “But we _need_ to find them. We need to find Ripley at the very least so we can... fix things.” 

“She will find _us_ ,” Cass replied in a sinister tone. “I don’t know her half as well as you do but that’s one thing I’m certain of. You must trust the soldiers to keep eyes and ears out for our enemies on your behalf.” She squeezed his hand. “Trust us to look after you. You must trust _me_. Can you?” 

“Cassandra,” Percy looked at her with a smile on his face, “I trust you more than anyone in this city and I have the utmost faith in you.” He reached over to push a few strands of white hair from her cheek. “I just can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I have a big brother to protect me,” the 18 year old grinned and she kicked him in the shin.

* * *

Kymal proved disappointing. Scanlan’s charm could only take them so far and the extent of it had allowed them to learn that the town had suffered just two losses when the Tal’Dorei murderer had last visited them which, according to the varying opinions of the gate guards, was roughly eight months ago.” 

“How long ago is 8 months ago?” Grog had asked as they crossed the muddied skirts of Kymal and entered into the town. 

“When it was last cold,” Scanlan had answered, taking in the sights of a populace that was still evidently shaken by the events, however long ago they were. 

“Oh. That was a long time.” 

“Indeed it was, Grog,” said Scanlan, kicking a stone from the dirt road. “And I want your opinion.” 

“ _My_ opinion?” Grog looked surprised and heartwarmingly pleased. “Ok. How long d’you want it for?” 

“Well,” said Scanlan, “first I need you to take a look at these people’s faces. Don’t, um... Don’t freak them out by staring but just, you know, act normal. If you can.” 

Grog looked around him at the poorer folk that lived on the edge of town, pulling carts and burning scraps over fires or sitting in the doorways of their houses. They seemed to take only a mild interest in the visitors but in the brief time they had to study the tiny Gnome and the enormous Goliath, the looks of suspicion were clear. 

“...’Kay,” he grunted. “I did it. Now d’yer want my opinion?” 

“I do indeed. How would you say they looked?” 

“Looked?” 

“Do you think they look happy? Angry? Tired...?” 

“Kinda angry,” Grog answered with a shrug of his immense shoulders, “but mostly scared.” 

“Ah, scared?” 

“Yeah, like they’ve been spooked. But not by me, I don’t think. They look like they’ve been scared a long time.”

Scanlan affirmingly nodded to himself. “I am of the same opinion, Grog. I’m glad we agree.” 

Despite fear lingering as an ever present fog, the people of Kymal were determined to carry on with life as long as they were able which, judging by the fact that most in Kymal were Human, was no surprise. Humans were stubborn creatures of habit and, with their short lifespans, couldn’t afford to take breaks from living. 

Now, when in a new city or town, Scanlan and Grog followed a very simple method of getting to know the place. There were, according to them, only two places you needed to go in order to integrate yourself into the society; a brothel and a tavern. Whichever order you chose to visit the two places were completely up to the individual. Scanlan and Grog preferred to drink and entertain at a tavern first before rewarding themselves with the ladies at the brothel.

Eventually, Scanlan told Grog that the best plan was to talk to someone and he pointed towards a cottage, saying that, “That lady over there might know something so let’s start there.”

In all of Scanlan’s defences, the one tending to the bit of land outside the cottage could, _quite_ easily due to the fair curl of the hair and the natural grace afforded to a feminine body, be mistaken for a woman but before such a grievous error could be made, Scanlan discerned the mistake and tactfully changed his initial introduction with flawless technique. 

“Excuse me, fine w- man? Man. Excuse me, my man. Fine fellow.”

The man, as he was now revealed, looked up from his digging and brushed his locks from his eyes in order to better see the small Gnomish figure that had approached him. 

“Yeah?” he asked. “What are you after?” He glanced up at the Goliath that had followed the tiny Gnome but did not seem to show much alarm. 

“That’s not a lady, Scanlan,” Grog said to his friend with a voice that, while quiet by Goliath standards, was barely touching the volume that one considered for a whisper. 

“Good sir,” Scanlan hurriedly pressed. “My large and, uh, _very_ observant friend here were wondering where the best place might be to enjoy some ale?” 

The gentleman, as he had shown no alarm at Grog’s arrival, appeared to take no offence at Grog’s opening statement. Rather, he straightened and leant casually on the handle of his spade with a smirk of amusement on his face. 

“Visitors, I take it?” 

“Oh, I’ve visited before but never long enough to enjoy the place,” said Scanlan and in this he was telling the truth. He didn’t think that telling a stranger about his brief fling with a Gnome woman here in Kymal was in anyone’s interests except for maybe Grog’s. 

“Enjoy the place? Ha. You can’t enjoy anything in this day and age.” The man’s smirk left him and the shake of his head sought to hide his remorseful expression before he jerked a thumb over his shoulder to point further down the way. “Good place is Barney’s down the road. It’s where me and my lads go.” 

Scanlan looked in the direction to show that he acknowledged. “Thank you.”

But before the Gnome could make some vague farewell, Grog stepped forward and with the tact of a black powder explosion asked aloud,

“D’yer know somethin’ about people gettin’ killed in horrific but artistically beautiful ways?” 

Where the man had moved to continue digging on his spit of land, naively thinking that their interchange had finished, he now froze and turned his head to stare at the half-giant, his previous lack of alarm now manifesting two-fold as though to compensate his previous lack of it. 

“...What?” he said, eyes wide, mouth open and knuckles whitening around the length of the spade. 

“Grog?” Scanlan hissed, heat pooling around his neck as he checked his surroundings. “Maybe... maybe rephrase that a bit?” 

“Oh.” Grog cleared his throat and tried again. “D’yer know somethin’ about people gettin’ killed in beautiful but horrifically artistic ways?” 

“Nope. Never mind.” 

“Gettin’ killed in artistic but... beautifully horrific ways?” 

“You’re not making it any better, Grog. Let me.” Scanlan planted a forced smile on his face and waved for the man’s attention again. “Ahem. Apologies. What he was trying to ask in a significantly tasteless way was if there was any information on the tragic murders that occurred here roughly eight months ago?” 

“When it was last cold,” Grog added.

The man was clearly used to being unflappable but this Goliath had put a threat to that reputation and it took a lot of willpower to steel himself and recover well enough to answer in as suspicious a tone as he could muster. 

“...Who are you that wants to know?” 

“Well,” replied Scanlan, summoning his natural charm again, “let’s just say that some of us have had enough of someone running around killing people and, with dreams of actually making a difference, we’re hoping to learn what we can about them so that we can make moves to stop their reign of terror, so’s to speak. Grog and I have retraced some of their steps in the hopes of finding some sort of pattern. Like a signature or something. Not like the sad faces but _another_ kind of clue.”

- _Chunk Chunk_ \- went the man’s spade as he banged off what bit of dirt had accumulated on the head and set it against the wall. With a sigh, he folded his arms and brushed the hair from his face a second time. 

“...We were lucky in Kymal, if you can call it ‘luck’; we only lost two,” he explained. “Father and son. They owned a stone quarry a mile or so out of town but can’t say they were the most liked pair around. The only small mercy is that they’ve left no widows or orphans behind.” 

“Where were they found?”

The man bit his lip and scanned the area for eavesdroppers but there appeared to be none so he brushed his hands off on his shirt and began to walk down the road. 

“Here, I’ll show you.”

* * *

“Mr Townsend, the senior, was found here.” The man, now having introduced himself as Rhaoul, had brought Scanlan and Grog to a back street behind the Maiden’s Wish Casino, deserted as far as the eye could see despite how popular the entertainment of the casino was. “Most of him was plastered up the wall and his cane was on the other side of the alley, propped up against the barrel, and on the wall above it was the killer’s mark. The sad face, you know.” 

“Yeah, we know,” Scanlan muttered, all merriment gone now that he stood in the very place where a gruesome murder occurred. The blood face had been scrubbed away and Scanlan wasn’t in a hurry to go and see if a trace of it remained. “So his cane was over there but the guy’s body was over- _mostly_ over here and... up there...” He looked up at the wall of the casino’s storage building. While the stones had been doused with water in a bid to clean them, Scanlan was almost certain that some still possessed a characteristically red colour... “What about the son? Mr Townsend the younger?” 

“He was found back at the quarry,” said Rhaoul who was watching Grog slowly pacing the area like a restless predator in a cage. “Took people hours to pick bits of him out from among the rocks, apparently. None dared to go back there for a long time in case there were parts of him that had been missed in the cleanup. There’s still nobody working the quarry these days. Waiting on a thorough clean.” 

“So he wasn’t with his dad when he was killed?” Scanlan asked next, also noting Grog’s uncomfortable pacing. 

“Seems that way,” Rhaoul shivered. “They only ran a business. Outside of that, they couldn’t stand each other other. No love there. Sad, in a way.” 

“Sad indeed.” Looking back up at the buildings all around, Scanlan saw no signs of residency. Perhaps they were all for the casino’s commercial use. “You didn’t know the victims well?”

Fair-faced Rhaoul shrugged. “My closest dealings with them were when I privately purchased a little stone for my paddock. Mr Townsend the Senior was who I did business with and while I despise the man for the outrageous fee he charged, I am grateful it was _him_. One of my boys tells me that the younger Mr Townsend isn’t beneath bullying in order to enjoy the fruits of extortion.” 

“Outside of business?” 

“No, I never kept company with them - you’d be hard-pressed to find a man that did. The only one known for taking a drink with the Townsends would be the head seamstress that runs the linen yard round the back of The Washerwoman’s Wench House.” 

Grog pulled himself out of his intense, hunting man prowl of concentration long enough to brighten his eyes with a child-like innocence and delight. 

“I like the sound of that!” he sang.

Rhaoul found himself smiling back at the large man. “Best be patient then, big one. The ‘Linen Yard Ladies’ only put the sheets they wash to good use after sundown.” 

“And this seamstress?” prompted Scanlan. 

“Madame Vida, she prefers to be called,” Rhaoul replied and then seemed to shudder. “Heaven knows if that’s her real name. If you fellas are being dead serious about all this then go and try speaking to her about the blokes that got their innards spilled.” 

Scanlan wasn’t sure if that was a warning or not but he tipped his beret at the man all the same.

* * *

Unlike many other places, the people of the Turst Fields were trying to put on brave faces and the guards even politely greeted the Half-Elves, not seeming to make mention of the large grizzly bear that ambled along beside his mother.

Yet the smell of recent murder was a stench that couldn’t be masked so easily.

Window shutters wobbled as people peeked out at the strangers and after passers-by had smiled and touched their caps, they’d always send a suspicious look behind them once they’d passed. 

“If you do the math,” Vex said, holding onto Trinket’s scruff as they walked, “the Turst Fields have had the most recent attack.” 

“The murderer could still be here somewhere.” Vax glanced down every dark road and alley. 

“We should be quick then.” 

“Excuse me!” Keyleth suddenly increased her pace and intercepted a young dark-skinned guard who looked tired and was clearly hoping to go home to bed.

He attempted to liven himself up and look alert and friendly as the druid came towards him with a pleasant smile. 

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked. “Do you need assistance?” 

“I think we do,” Keyleth gestured to Vax and Vex. “It’s about... Well, not to cause unneeded alarm or panic, it’s about those awful murders.” The guard stiffened considerably at the mention of it but Keyleth carried on calmly, “We’ve come from Westruun...” 

“I’m sorry to say but it doesn’t matter where you’ve come from,” the guard interrupted. “The subject of murder isn’t one that can be spoken of in a public setting like this. My apologies but I won’t be able to help you.” He looked flustered and moved to walk away. 

“Then please,” Vex called after him in a gentle voice, “do you know of anyone who can? We wouldn’t be asking if it were not serious business.” 

The guard looked torn and he kept moving his spear from one hand into the other. 

“I... I can’t help you,” he said again. “Not right now, anyway. What kind of ‘serious business’ are you here on, can I ask?”

Vex thought fast. 

“Our friend here,” she replied, wafting her hand delicately at Keyleth, “was almost a victim of false arrest. Westruun has suffered murders of their own and for a long time, people were accusing animals. As a druid, she can shape shift and that caused some discomfort. We came in the hopes of comparing the details of the cases to prove that she’s entirely innocent. We already have other investigators working elsewhere.” 

It was only a half truth but Vex’ahlia didn’t think that telling a guard the full story would have helped their plight. 

“Investigators, are you?” the guard mused. It was hard to tell if he believed them or not. “Emon said they’d be sending someone...” 

“They might well be but Emon is quite a way away and it’s no doubt taking them time to visit each and every affected area. We can’t wait. Please, we only want to speak to someone in charge of taking care of the crime scene.” 

The guard groaned and rubbed his face. 

“Look, I’m about to get some rest. I’ll ask some of my colleagues and I might get back to you.” 

“Oh thank you darling!” Vex gushed and Vax rolled his eyes, suppressing a proud smile. 

“I can meet you in an inn on the corner,” the guard said, pointing with his spear. “Later on tonight perhaps. No promises.”

He walked off briskly as if worried about being seen with them.

For the rest of the day, Vax stood by outside the inn while Vex took Keyleth off to peruse the market stalls and chat. With his black leathers and cape, he looked unnerving to say the least but anytime a child walked by, he always made sure to smile and nod at them briefly before turning away, not wanting the child nor their accompanying adult to get uncomfortable. 

He took the time alone to observe things. Like the way people kept moving. No-one stopped to chat in the street, no-one hesitated to glance into a shop window, no-one delayed long enough to look at what was around them... They all just wanted to be gone and to get inside as quickly as possible. Vax noted the anxious looks that some were giving him and it suddenly jarred him upon realising that maybe they were trying to work out if he was a murderer, seeing as he seemed to have no fear of hanging around. Not wanting to end up getting arrested like Keyleth had (there was no Pike to fight for them here), Vax darted inside the inn and found a place in the corner to sit down and wait. 

The people here were even more sullen and shaken than the ones in Westruun and Vax doubted he’d have got the same willingness to talk here than he did before. 

_Mrrreh_

Something pressed up against his leg and Vax stiffened before he realised it was just a cat, a small black furred youngster with two white paws. 

“Can I help you?” Vax smiled at the cat to which the cat looked up, tilted it’s head and began to purr, one paw slowly reaching up to pat at Vax’ildan’s leg. Vax could take a hint and he reached down to stroke it. 

At first it leant away warily, almost as though it hadn’t anticipated receiving some petting so soon but, a second later and after a quick sniff of the Half-Elf’s fingers, it was pushing the side of it’s face into his gloved hand, squinting it’s eyes shut in pleasure, purring away. 

Looking around quickly to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Vax then leant back and began to discretely pat his lap. The cat took a couple of minutes to consider the invitation and then sprang up lightly onto the rogue, happy to have such a willing person for once. The cat peddled Vax’s lap a few times and then spun and lay down, the end of it’s tail twitching away under the table. 

“Good to see Lia’s actually made a friend, though she blends in so well with your clothes I almost didn’t see her,” said one of the barmaids, passing by. “Some aren’t keen on her. They push her away and say she’s bad luck.” 

“In some cultures, black cats are actually _good_ luck,” Vax said, giving ‘Lia’ a rub under her chin. 

“Well, we shall see what she brings today,” said the barmaid and wiped her hands on her apron. “So long as she keeps the rodents away, I’m not fussed. Can I get you anything to eat or drink, honey?” 

Vax pulled out some coins and passed them to her. “Just some cheese and bread please.”

The barmaid walked away and Lia tucked her head down under her paws to sleep. 


	7. “Everyone is still so frightened.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, is the next way to draw a new mischief on.”  
> \- Othello

The Washerwoman’s Wench House, from the outside, looked like an ordinary tavern to the untrained eye. There was a wooden sign hanging out front which featured a rather large, buxom lady wrapped only in a skimpy cloth and holding a goblet, looking over her shoulder and winking. There were two front windows facing the street and one window which looked out onto a side path snaking round behind into some sort of rear courtyard and in that latter window sat a small red candle - unlit at the moment. All that could be seen of the courtyard were rows and rows of hanging cloths and sheets, the steam rising up from the hot water that was being used to clean them. Grog could just about make out some steps which lead up from the courtyard to a wrap-around balcony of some sort which had several doors. Brothel rooms, most likely. 

“What do you think we should do?” asked Scanlan. “Front door or back entrance?”

Grog smiled. “...I like the front bit best but sometimes-” 

“I’m not talking about sex, Grog. Front door...” Scanlan pointed to the door of the tavern, “...or back way?” He pointed to the gates of the courtyard. 

“Oh. ...I want to go the back way.” 

“Just so we’re clear, I’m _not_ going to be ‘purchasing’ anything. We’re here to talk to the lady that our new friend Rhaoul talked about, remember?” 

“...Front door.” 

“Atta boy. Let’s go.”

You could always count on a place like this to keep the cheer up and act like nothing had happened. The ones drinking were raucous and jolly and the girls serving drinks were flirty and flouncing their bare legs at anyone that cared to pass them a few extra coins. Over on one side of the room, there were handsome men doing the same for those that preferred. 

A couple of the girls saw Scanlan and Grog come in and they whispered to one another with excited giggles, not doing a very subtle job of eyeing them up and down. 

Scanlan heard Grog whining beside him and he sighed. 

“Fine, go and butter them up while I talk but remember,” Scanlan said, waving a finger, “we are only browsing. We are not buying anything.”

Grog sidled off to where one of the women, a broad-shouldered Dwarf, was practically licking her lips at him from behind a large tankard. He was like a child in a toy shop and he’d most likely be wanting Scanlan to ‘get him something’ despite being told ‘no’.

Even though he was head over heels for Pike, Scanlan could appreciate the female form in all it’s variations and he especially enjoyed being a man of his height when the taller women went sashaying by with their large ruffled skirts and bare thighs. Well, _everything_ was bare under those skirts, as Scanlan could visually confirm while on his way towards the bar.

With a hop and a jump, he’d scaled one of the barstools and was now able to lean on the counter, looking up and down for someone to wave over. 

“What can I get you, my fine Gnome?” said the brightly dressed individual who answered the summons. They twirled their intricately styled moustache and leant over towards the Gnome, their shirt revealing just as much as Scanlan’s. 

“Just a few moments of your time, please,” Scanlan smiled. “And perhaps an answer to a small question. With olives.”

The barkeeper laughed and pushed some hair behind an ear. 

“I like you a lot. Are you sure that’s _all_ I can get you?” they flirted. 

“That’s all.” 

“Very well. What sort of answer would you like?” 

“One to the question of ‘where might I find and speak to Madame Vida’?” 

“Oh, _her_?” The barkeep’s face fell. “Now what would a good-looking individual like yourself want with _her_?” 

“Only for a small matter of business, I hope,” Scanlan said.

The barkeeper straightened up, shrugged and then waved their hand behind them. “Well, she’s hardly ever in here during the day so you’ll want to head round to the ‘steamy’ part of the establishment where the linen yard is open for any _cleaning_ business you might have. The dirty stuff that Madame Vida oversees happens later on.” 

“Thank you,” Scanlan bowed his head and passed over some silver. “Though if what I’ve heard is true, I don’t intent to stay and help them put those sheets out.” 

Dancing his beret around on his finger, he bounced off the stool and bid farewell, looking around for Grog who was on the verge of asking Scanlan if he could just have a _little_ fun. 

The answer was still no and Grog sadly said goodbye to the Dwarf woman with the ale and followed the Gnome out and round to the back. 

“Barkeep said that Madame Vida spends most of her time here,” Scanlan said, smelling the steam. “Now stay with me, don’t wander off, and don’t be tempted by anything, okay?” 

“Mm-kay,” Grog sighed, utterly bored. “Can we go fight something after this?” 

“We’ll see.”

There were women of all sizes tending to the cloths. Some were elbow deep in tubs of bubbly water and others were shaking out sheets to either fold or hang up but they all turned an eye in the direction of the two friends as they came waltzing through the gates. 

“Excuse me?” Scanlan asked a Halfling who had a basket propped up on one of her hips. “Not wishing to be rude but may I ask if I can find Madame Vida around here?” 

The Halfling blushed and wordlessly pointed over the linen yard to the far side before she went right back to work, almost worried about being told off. Scanlan felt sorry for her. He and Grog, back when Scanlan took more regular trips to the whorehouses in the days before he starting falling in love with Pike, made a point of making sure that the ladies they slept with were happy to do so before they enjoyed themselves. There had been a couple of brothels in some of the seedier towns where they’d both made the decision to give their poor chosen girls a bit of a break and then lie to the owners afterwards.

But sure enough, at the end of the yard, sat a table where an older Human woman was counting money. She had probably been a very handsome woman in her youth but now the frown lines had set in and her jowls were a little looser, suggesting she was perhaps in her 60’s or 70’s. Scanlan still found it strange to think about how short some races lives were. He, himself, was in his late 60’s and he didn’t look any older than some of the young men inside the tavern.

The woman they presumed was Madame Vida looked up sharply at their approach and almost instinctively leant over her coins as the two men came closer. 

“Madame Vida, are you?” Scanlan began. 

The woman cocked an eyebrow. 

“Aye,” she drawled with a thick accent. “An’ who might you fellas be?” 

Scanlan swept off his beret yet again and flipped his brown locks in suave manner. 

“Scanlan Shorthalt. We were wondering if a fine lady such as yourself might be able to-” 

“Ah well now that be makin’ sense,” laughed Vida. Her voice was scratchy and deep. “I know me a vocal tone like that. Get plenty of yer kind visitin’ us. Yer a bard, Mr Shorthalt, eh? Sweet-talker. Butter wouldn’t melt in yer mouth. Mmm plenty o’ bards come to see my Linen Yard Ladies. So ya here fer a romp in these ‘ere sheets as well, hmm?” 

“...She’s good,” Grog grunted with a grin. 

Scanlan cleared his throat and kept smiling. “Yes, you’re very good indeed. Well, I see there’s no reason to not get straight to the point. We’re here for information about Mr Townsend and Son.”

At once, Madame Vida’s demeanour completely changed. She hunched over the table even more and glowered at the two of them, her mouth pressing into a thin line that curved down. 

“...I ain’t speakin’ about other customers to the likes of you’s,” she snarled. “I don’t care if some low-life ‘as made ya think it were me that ‘ad anythin’ to do with their murderers but I’ll ‘ave yer both out on the streets with yer man’oods chopped off if yer accusin’ me o’ anythin’!” 

Grog bristled at the threatening voice and looked fiercely back at her while discretely crossing his legs at the same time as she went on jabbing a rude finger in Scanlan’s direction. 

“An’ don’t yer _dare_ go usin’ yer bardic influences on me, short stuff! I’ll ‘ave yer...” 

Scanlan waved a hand and immediately cut her off with a spell. 

“Forgive me. I should have been truthful with you from the start. I’m known as Detective Inspector Reynolds. This is my plucky side-kick Gr...eg. Greg Stonejaw.”

Grog tilted his head in confusion. “...But that’s my dad’s name...” 

“He’s a trainee.” Scanlan hopped up to sit opposite Madame Vida at the table bench. “Now, as I was saying. We’re here to talk about-” 

“About th’ Townsends, aye, ya said that,” nodded Vida, leaning forward attentively and showing a bit too much ageing cleavage. “My own apologies fer not realisin’ the importance. What would yer like to know, Detective Inspector?”

And so, thanks to the power of that bardic influence, Madame Vida helpfully told Scanlan all about the Townsends’ dodgy dealings. In fact she probably told them things that were a little too personal before getting down to the real reason for the call. 

On the evening of their deaths, she had explained, they had been particularly successful in selling off some high quality stone to a carpenter and had gone drinking at their nearest inn before they planned on coming to carry on the revelry celebrations at the Wench House in the hopes of seeing the ‘Linen Yard Ladies’ afterwards. 

“An’ in that time - an’ I know this ‘cause I were escortin’ the pair o’ them - they managed to get into a heated argument with two locals an’ a traveller, promptin’ the younger Mr Townsend to return to the quarry so’s to get ‘is ‘ands on a pickaxe fer some extra intimidation, so he says. The fool was mad drunk at the time fer sayin’ that, seein’ as the quarry is a mile outta town,” Vida said. “I say’s to Mr Townsend the older, I say’s “Oi, you go an’ do whatever the ‘ell yer like” - ‘cause I weren’t in the mood fer dealin’ with the guards when they show up - “an’ I’ll be back at the linen yard with yer favourite girls” an’ so I goes on my way.” 

“And you didn’t see them after that?” 

“Not alive.” 

“Right,” Scanlan hummed. “So seeing as Townsend Junior was dead at the quarry, it’s suffice to say he was probably killed while he was getting his pickaxe. But Townsend Senior was found near the casino storage warehouse...”

Madame Vida shrugged. “Murderers be choosey sometimes.” 

“Yeah, well, either this murderer is lightning fast or the younger Mr Townsend passed out and was lying there for a while before getting hacked apart... Do you happen to know what they were arguing about with the locals?” 

“Eh, I weren’t rightly interested but it were all about rocks, it sounded like. The locals were gettin’ upset about prices an’ the Townsends were gettin’ upset about some stuff called white rock or somethin’ with the traveller.” 

“And that’s it?” Scanlan asked. “There was nothing about money being owed or anything like that? You know, the sort of stuff that people sometimes get murdered for?” 

“Not really...” She trailed off and then clicked her fingers. “White stone. Not white rock. It were white _stone_ they were on about. Not that I reckon it makes a difference. Rocks an’ stones are all the same to me.”

Scanlan’s pointed ears pricked up. He knew whitestone. It was used in many staffs, wands and other arcane rituals because of how well it channeled magic energies. Some wizards, sorcerers and warlocks absolutely swore by it and used it in every enchanted possession they owned. Another bard that Scanlan had known a long time ago was well-known in the community for his whitestone necklace that he liked to flash at every venue he performed at.

Whitestone rock was valued at how pure or refined it was. Some pieces of raw whitestone could fetch you between 30 to 50 gold while the fully treated, refined green glass residuum, harvested from the ore, was much more expensive. 

And could be something that certain people of the arcane might kill for.

* * *

The day went on, the sky darkened and, almost immediately, people seemed to scatter in different directions, each one heading to a house to lock themselves away. The streets were deserted by the time the torch-lighter came out to work. He had two other people with him, Vex noticed from the corner window where she and Keyleth had found her brother. He looked nervous, on edge, always looking around after lighting each sconce even though his two companions were looking around just as desperately. They were almost running from one wall torch to the other, focused only on doing the job and getting off the streets as quickly as possible. 

It was also around this time that the guard returned, out of uniform. 

“I spoke to my supervisor,” he immediately said, not wanting to sit down to talk to them. “He said I can give you ten minutes to study one of the bodies in the morning.” 

“Thank you,” Vax said, eyeing his sister to give the man a coin which she pretended not to see until he nudged her hard under the table. 

“How long have the bodies been dead?” Keyleth asked, paling considerably. 

“A few days,” the guard replied. “They’ve been preserved by the clerics for as long as is appropriate. You got here just in time because we were only waiting for the deceased’s families to come forward for identification (where it is possible) and burial decisions. As of this afternoon, they’re ready to be put to rest. But I won’t say more about it tonight. Stay inside now where it is safe and come to the cemetery before sunrise.” 

It seemed he was in just as much of a hurry to depart as the torch-lighter had been to finish his work for he turned without bidding a proper goodbye and had left the almost empty room before being assured that they would do as he had asked. 

“Everyone is still so frightened,” Vex said quietly, aware that the tavern keeper had been watching them warily this entire time. Irony was punctual that particular evening it seemed when, no sooner had she said that, she jumped in her seat when a black furry head suddenly popped up over the table from her brother’s lap. “Holy- Vax, how long has that been there?” 

“Aw, this is Lia,” said Vax, giving the cat another stroke. He’d given her a few small bits of cheese from his plate before his sister had come to find him and the cat hadn’t bothered to leave him for the rest of the afternoon. Lia let out a squeaky mew of thanks and went back to purring loudly. “She’s been keeping me company this entire time.” 

“I was wondering why Trinket was so eager to get under the table so he could shove his nose into your crotch,” Vex sniggered. 

Lia the cat yawned and jumped down, stretching her limbs and slinking away to go and earn her keep at the inn by hunting around the food stores.

“...You can see why some people dislike them,” Keyleth murmured, watching her go.

“What? Cats?” 

“Hmm.” Keyleth turned her head to look out the window, still trying to follow the cat as she slunk into the shadows and disappeared just as Vax was known to do. “They’re night-time hunters. Some have the stereotypical view that anything that comes out and hunts at night can’t be fully trusted.”

The rogue rolled his eyes. “Because nocturnal animals are the only ones that sun-hating fiends can try and befriend, right? Just superstitions.” 

“Mind you,” Vex said, getting up to talk to the keeper about buying a room, “in a place like this, you can forgive people for being mistrustful. The murderer seems to only kill at night too.”

* * *

_“So much to learn, so much to do and not. Enough. Time!  
_

_It gets me so mad! But - I can’t get frustrated. Some things take time and ‘good things come to those that wait’ as my grandmother used to say. ~~Rest in peace Grandmama~~  
_

_I know better than to let myself get angry. Keep calm and carry on.  
_

_I’m probably just tired. Had an awful night last night. Bad dreams, you know. Seem to get them a lot recently._

_My head really hurts.”_


	8. “This was no animal attack.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘Its a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, when men are unprepared and look not for it.”  
> \- Richard III

Beneath the undertaker’s house, the guard stopped with his hand on the door handle and looked back at them with uncertainty. 

“You sure about this?” he asked one final time. “This isn’t going to be pretty.” 

“If there were a way around this, we would take it,” Vex replied. “Unfortunately, this will be crucial in helping us.”

The guard let out a sigh and, “...Alright. Let it be known that I gave warning.”

On the other side of the door was the inner stone room of the undertaker’s sanctum and the cold hit first more than anything else. It had to be kept cold like this for the sake of the smell and to keep the bodies as preserved as possible until burial or cremation. The undertaker was present in the room, having prepared the bodies for one final inspection, and he quietly excused himself to the back, watching and waiting. 

There were four stone tables. The first three were occupied with a body, covered by a white cloth shroud. The fourth table had some sort of box on top, also covered by a shroud.

The guard, shivering, moved to the closest table with a look in his eyes that conveyed his desire that they change their minds and leave. Slowly, with great respect, he took a hold of the edges of the cloth on one side and carefully peeled it back, lowering his face as he did, as the upper half of the corpse was unveiled. With each length that he revealed, the faces of the Half-Elves blanched more and more. 

“Queen’s Grace...” Vax breathed when the body was fully revealed. 

They presumed it was a man but even that could have been debated. What clothes he had once worn had been reduced to simple strips of cloth that hardly afforded him dignity, stuck to what little skin remained on him by the dried blood that had stained the material. His upper torso seemed to have no skin whatsoever; it had been shredded and flayed to such an extent that all that could be seen were muscles and gore, now in the process of decay. The left arm was considerably more intact that the right and of the man’s two hands, only one was present - the other was missing. There was very little hair left on his head and the nose had been torn away, pulling off most of the skin around the mouth. They didn’t really want to see what the rest of him looked like. 

“...This is the work of a butcher...” Vex gulped, nausea beginning to turn her stomach as she quickly corrected herself. “No, even a butcher would treat corpses better than this.” 

“Afraid I have to agree,” the guard nodded, grimacing as he looked fleetingly at the man’s face for a second. “Poor guy who discovered this one was dry heaving all the way down the road. Can’t say I blame him.” 

“And... five?” Keyleth whispered in horror, looking at the other tables. “Five of these bodies?” 

“That’s right. You need to see the others too?” 

Keyleth closed her eyes and swallowed. “Do they all look the same?”

The guard drew in a long breath and looked firstly to the undertaker and then at the other shrouds with a heavy heart. 

“Some are worse,” he admitted. “Some seemed to get off lightly. The two bandits that got on the receiving end of the murderer got the full works. You can only identify them by the things they had in their pockets. Trust me, if you don’t need to see them, then leave them. Straight up give you nightmares.”

Keyleth could feel the skin on her arms prickle as the cold and ill ease got to her. 

“There’s never been a killer like this, has there?” she asked, mostly to herself than to anyone else. 

Vex was staring at the wounds on the body, her face looking a degree paler than normal. 

“This was no animal attack,” she murmured, remembering the fears that had been expressed back at Westruun, “although I find it hard to believe a _person_ could do this much damage.” 

“You better believe it,” the guard grunted darkly. “Some of these corpses were taken apart like a... like a surgeon had got his hands on them.”

Vax’s eyebrows twitched. “So the killer could be someone who knows anatomy?” 

“Someone,” Keyketh hissed, “who is using their skills to disturb the balance of nature.”

Vex gazed around at the corpses on the tables and couldn’t fathom the warranted violence nor how it connected with that of Keyleth’s problem. 

“Is there any connection between the victims?” she asked desperately. “Any patterns that stand out? Things they had in common?” 

“Well, no, not really,” the guard answered her and then looked around again. “Uh, let’s see... This one was a young man from a small working family. Bit of a nuisance but a good lad deep down. Um... That one over there was a guy who owned a seedy herbal shop. We had our eyes on him for a long time because of suspected illegal substances being passed over the counter, if you know what I mean. That one there was a youngster who we think might have been courting our young man here or they were friends seeing as they were found together. Not much known about them though. Then over there...” He pointed at the box. “Those are our thugs. They’ve been kept together because...” He coughed and looked uncomfortable. “Well, we’re not sure exactly which of the body pieces belong to which person. It’s a bloody jigsaw. Even the hardiest of us couldn’t look at them when we went to collect what we could. They won’t be missed in the Turst Fields but... but my word, that couldn’t have been a nice way to go.” 

“So they didn’t know each other?” said Vax. “There’s nothing to connect them other than this guy and that one might have been in a relationship, romantic or platonic.” He sighed and scratched his chin. “What about, I don’t know, events? Was there anything major happening in town?” 

“Not to my knowledge,” answered the guard. “We were having - what’s the word...? - _prestigious_ guests coming and going. A figurehead from Kraghammer, I think, and a couple of royal nobles from Whitestone passing through on their way home. But they were all gone by evening. Didn’t stick around.” 

Vex wished Trinket had been allowed to come in to the mausoleum with her but it hadn’t been appropriate so she resorted to hugging herself and moving closer to her brother as she said, 

“No-one is going to want to stick around with a murderer about.”

Keyleth’s pointed ear had twitched towards the guard. 

“Whitestone?” she repeated in a questioning tone. 

“Don’t think I know Whitestone. You hardly ever hear from that city,” Vax commented. 

“Well no,” agreed the guard. “Very private city. Lot of history and mythology there too.” 

“Yeah,” hummed Keyleth, “ _plenty_ of history.” 

Vax’ildan turned his head to look at her, noting that her voice had gone quiet. 

“You know the city, Keyleth?” 

The druid swallowed. “Not only do I know the city, I know the family that rules it.” 

“Wait... That’s the nearest city on the map, isn’t it?” Vex gasped and faced the guard. “Sir, have there been any murder reports since the last of these bodies was found?” 

“No.” The guard covered the body back up again. “Though it’s only been a week so we can’t be sure we won’t be struck again. That being said, most think the murderer must have moved on.” 

Vex turned back to Vax and Keyleth. “The only place for them to go is Whitestone. We might finally close in on them.” 

“Hey now...” said the guard, his eyes widening. “You folks aren’t seriously thinking of catching the killer are you? What’s going to stop you from getting licked up and spat out again like the rest of these poor souls?” 

“We’ve seen their work and we know what they can do,” Vax replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. They’d had discussions on what their plan of attack would be should they find the killer but it was always easier said than done. “There’s three of us here and we possess a three person backup crew, each one a capable fighter. At the very least, we can get Keyleth reporting back to her people to send reinforcements to catch whoever this is.” 

The guard shook his head. “...Sounds crazy.” 

“Crazy, yes,” Vex’ahlia had to agree with him. “But if we don’t do something then who will?”

Despite the cold, Keyleth felt very warm all of a sudden and all she wanted was to get out and get some air. So, thanking the guard and the undertaker, she turned to the twins and announced that she intended to get a very strong drink.

* * *

Scanlan slowly stirred his drink round in his mug and stared into it as if he were a fortune teller hoping to glean _something_ from the liquid that wasn’t just the promise of getting drunk. He was successfully ignoring the torn wooden pieces around his feet and the broken half of an unlucky barstool that was on the table he was sat at while the drunken roars of the tavern patrons deafened any chance of a conversation. Behind Scanlan, the source of all the damage and noise was from within the pile of bodies that were in the midst of wrestling with Grog, most of them covered in ale and a few of them covered in various kinds of bodily fluid. Grog wasn’t nearly half as drunk as his challengers but his bellowing laugh could have fooled you into thinking he was. 

It was good for him to blow off steam. He’d been deprived of lady favours and this was the next best thing for a Goliath like him. It would, however, have been nice for Scanlan to have had some proper intelligent conversation so he could work through his thoughts and try and make sense of what he had learnt. 

So far, his biggest clue revolved around the Townsends’ final moments - their argument with the two locals and a stranger. 

Madame Vida hadn’t been able to get a good look at the travelling stranger and had only been able to identify the fact that they sounded ‘posh’. As far as age, race or even gender went, she had no idea. She had been far too eager to leave the scene before she could be accused of disturbing the peace.

A few things stuck out as suspicious in Scanlan’s mind and he had to assemble the points into a clear order: 

1) It had been a ‘stranger’ - someone unknown to Kymal.   
2) It had been a ‘traveller’ - someone who moved from city to city.   
3) The subject of the argument was about a material known for arcane use.   
4) Materials for arcane use were valuable.   
5) Townsend Junior went heading to the quarry where he was later found dead.  
6) Townsend Senior was found half a mile away from the scene of the argument.  
7) The two known locals were still in town the following day.   
8) The travelling stranger had left town that evening.  
9) No other murders happened in Kymal since that night.   
10) Roughly four days later, bodies started appearing in Westruun. 

Scanlan winced. Everything pointed to that mysterious stranger, the one that was asking and arguing about a substance called whitestone. Maybe...

Grog, swearing and panting, suddenly appeared and shoved the broken barstool from the table, plonking himself down into a free seat and never looking more gleeful and alive. 

“Scanlan, did you see me?” he laughed. “Did you see me tearin’ up the place? Ah!! That’s ‘ow a warrior s’posed to live! You gonna drink that ale or...?”

Wordlessly, Scanlan pushed the mug towards his friend and didn’t even blink in surprise when Grog threw it all back in one go, slamming the empty mug back down on the table and shaking droplets of ale from his beard. 

“Grog, do you have to? Go outside and shake if you really must.” 

“Sorry.” He stuck out a tongue and licked his lips. “You weren’t bettin’ for me to win tonight. Fight not exciting enough for yer?” 

“I’m just trying to work out if the person that was arguing with the Townsends was the murderer or not,” Scanlan said, leaning his chin into his palm and mumbling through his fingers. “It seems very likely. What do you think?” 

“You askin’ for my ‘opinion’ again? You like havin’ it a lot these days. Gettin’ greedy, Scanlan.” 

“Go on, Grog, help a Gnome out, yeah?” 

“Well,” Grog replied with an overly dramatic sigh, “I fink that maybe it might maybe be likely. Maybe.” 

Scanlan took away his hand and lowered his forehead to the table. “...How lucky I am to have such a helpful best friend.” 

“Yeah, you’d be strugglin’ without me, buddy.” Grog lifted up the empty mug and tried spinning it on his finger. “...I will say that the place where the older bloke was killed, you know - I didn’t like it.” 

Scanlan turned his head to reveal one inquisitive eye. 

“I saw you having a good walk around,” he said. “What were you looking for?” 

“Oh, you know. _Signs_.” 

Seeing an opportunity to play up Grog’s ego and pride, Scanlan hid a smirk as he asked, “Wooden ones or stone ones?” 

“Nah, you ain’t thinkin’ on my big brain waves,” Grog predictably replied. “Come and keep up. Lookin’ for signs like _clues_.” 

“Ah right, and what did you find?” 

“No struggle.”

Scanlan blinked and frowned, briefly wondering if he’d accidentally missed a part of the conversation without meaning to. 

“Pardon?” 

“You see, Scanlan,” Grog began in his most intellectual sounding voice, “in the wilds where I come from, you see a lot of dead things. Things like deer and wolves and rabbits and badgers and foxes and little itty-bitty squirrels and mice-” 

“Lots of dead things, yes.” 

“And, ‘specially with the big ones, you see a bit of a struggle. Happens _alllll_ the time. There’s bitin’ and kickin’ and punchin’ and yellin’ and... Well, the punchin’ bit was only from us. But there’s, like, broken plants and sticks and baby trees and stuff and the dirt’s all messed up and everythin’.” 

“But here there was no...” Scanlan lifted his head and clicked his fingers. “You’re right - there was no struggle. So that means the actual death was quick and after the victim died... _that’s_ when the killer tears apart the body and leaves a sad little face.” He hoped people weren’t listening to this. 

Grog nodded. “No struggle.” 

“A quick silent death usually comes from one of two people,” Scanlan then murmured. “Those with silent spells and magic. Or rogues.” 

“Ooh! We know a rogue. That Vax guy said he was a rogue,” Grog piped up excitedly. “Is it him?” 

“No, Grog, not likely. But it could either be someone _like_ him or someone like _me_ ,” Scanlan waggled his fingers and little purple sparkles began dancing around his fingertips. 

“Or it could be that traveller.” 

Back to the table went Scanlan’s face. “Yes. A traveller with interest or knowledge of whitestone ore.”

He missed Pike. Pike would have good ideas...

The sending stone in Scanlan’s pocket suddenly started to vibrate and as the Gnome pulled it out a familiar Half-Elf’s voice started to speak:

” _Hi, Vax speaking to let you know that we’re not stopping at the Turst Fields. We’re heading straight to the city of Whitestone. It’s been a week since the last body was found and we think the murderer has moved on in that time. The only place left to go is Whitestone. Meet up with Pike and we will see you all there. Stay safe.”_

 _“_ I don’t really know lots of big words...” Grog said after a pause, “but because you said something ‘bout ‘whitestone’, that sounded a bit like something called a co-ince-EE-dense to me.”

* * *

Wilhand wrung his wrinkled Gnomish hands over and over, rubbing his knuckles and wrists as he watched Pike hurry back and forth across her room, taking things off her desk and from her shelves and stuffing them into her satchel. 

“You think it wise to go now?” the old Gnome was saying in a voice that did little to hide his apprehensive tones. “The order to close city gates could come at any time. You don’t feel it is best to wait a little longer?” 

“Enough time has passed since everyone left and I’ve used up my usefulness here,” answered Pike as she plunged into one of her storage chests to find more things she might do well to take with her. “There’s been no sign of the murderer anywhere and Westruun seems to have been left alone now. It’s time to stop waiting and start chasing.” 

Wilhand gave a tired sigh and found himself smiling. Pike was not the sort to take a spectator’s role unless it was to care for those in need and the old Gnome knew better than anybody that she couldn’t be steered off her course once she had set herself in motion. 

“Just promise you’ll meet up with the others soon,” he said. “I know you can handle yourself, my dear, but the thought of you being caught alone and unawares and ending up like those other poor people...”

He trailed off as his great great granddaughter engulfed him in a hug. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said into his crinkly, pointed ear. “I’ll be heading towards the Turst Fields and joining Grog and Scanlan on the road before long.” 

Pike felt herself be pulled back and then the soft kiss of her old grandfather on her cheek. 

“...Sarenrae go with you, Pike. May she protect you.”


	9. “Heading for Whitestone, are you?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “True nobility is exempt from fear.”  
> \- King Henry VI, Part 2

They had stopped at an inn out on the road, heading along the main route towards the vicinity of the Alabaster Sierras. It added to the mystery of Whitestone that there were so few travellers heading in that direction if the emptiness of the inn was anything to go by. There were, perhaps, a handful of people in a relatively spacious tavern area and eavesdropping revealed that they weren’t even from the city but rather from a small settlement halfway between the Turst Fields and the Parchwood.

Vex rested her chin in her hand and let out a sigh, thinking of poor Trinket that had had to bed down in the stable, much to the discomfort of the horses. 

“So, Whitestone then?” she said, her eyes drifting over the map that they’d purchased from a map-maker and coming to rest on the city that was hidden in the top right corner of the continent. She glanced up at Keyleth. “You said you actually know the ruling family there?” 

“I visited a few times, a long time ago, with my father and I made friends with them,” Keyleth began to explain, clutching her empty cup with two hands. She looked downcast but there was a faint smile on her face. “Well, one of them in particular, I mean... Percy is, I’d say, actually my _best_ friend. We’re so different but, somehow, we got on very well. I think my parents were hoping that something might have come of it and we could marry when we were old enough but...” Keyleth laughed half-heartedly and sniffed, her smile wobbling. Vax hadn’t realised that a small frown had appeared on his face. “...Well, we kept in contact with one another. Wrote letters and such. Then... something terrible happened and most of the family were killed.”

Vex turned sharply to her brother and back to Keyleth, her face shocked. “What? Is it... Was it like the murder victims?” 

“I don’t know,” Keyleth shrugged. “They _were_ murdered but Father was hesitant to tell me everything. To be honest, I was only wanting to know if Percy was still alive - and he was! Miraculously, Percy and his younger sister survived.” She paused for several long seconds. “Didn’t seem appropriate to write to him after that.” 

Vax examined one of his fingernails as he looked away. 

“Did you... Uh...” he mumbled, not sure what he was trying to ask. “Do you wish that...? When we go there, do you...?” 

Keyleth guessed at what he was trying to say. 

“Of course I want to see him. He’s still my best friend.” It answered most of Vax’s question, even if there’d been more he wanted to ask. “That being said, he’s now Lord of his city,” Keyleth went on, not realising. “Can’t exactly pick up from where we left off.” 

“He’ll remember you though, won’t he?” asked Vex. 

“Ha, he’d better!” Keyleth laughed. But while her beautiful face lit up in the way that made Vax’s heart unexpectedly thud, it vanished seconds later. Her eyes resumed their sorrow. “I’ve missed him. There were many times I could have gone back to Whitestone and seen him but I was scared. I was too scared about what had happened and some part of me worried...” 

“What exactly happened?” asked Vax’ildan, pushing his twinges of jealous insecurity away. 

Keyleth took a long shaky breath and closed her eyes, clutching her cup like a lifeline. 

“From what I can remember being told, a lord and lady, disguising themselves as friendly noble visitors, took the castle in a bloody coup and killed all but two of the de Rolo family,” she told them. “That’s his name, by the way. Percival de Rolo. The Third. I... Never mind. Anyway, they killed most of the family and, whether on purpose or by accident, left Percy and his sister alive and they looked to rule Whitestone for themselves until there was, I don’t know, a revolution or something. The murderers fled and were never seen in the city again, leaving behind the last two de Rolos to take up the mantle of ruling a city.” 

“And how long ago was this?” 

“Five years, I think. Percy was seventeen.” 

“Only seventeen?” gasped Vex. “What about his sister?” 

“I think she must be around eighteen now so when it all happened... she was thirteen.” 

“They were...?” Vex’ahlia pressed her lips together and calmed herself. “Orphaned teenagers now having to govern an entire city?” 

“They had help, of course,” Keyleth went on. “There are many loyal to the de Rolos who love them and that must be how they had enough to take back the city from it’s oppressors. But, yes, that’s why I thought it best that I stop writing. Percy had enough on his plate to deal with. And I... I guess I never found the stomach to start again. I didn’t know what to say or what to do.” She felt the stirrings of hot tears prickle her eyes and she blinked them away quickly so that the twins wouldn’t see. “...He would have needed a best friend more than ever and all I could do was keep quiet.” 

“Why didn’t anyone else come to help?” Vax then asked, pretending he hadn’t seen her tears. 

“We didn’t know,” replied Keyleth, struggling even more with her emotions. “By the time we found out, they had already taken the city back.”

Vex smiled kindly at the druid. “If we go to Whitestone and the opportunity comes, you should talk to him, Keyleth.”

Keyleth looked up and was about to reply when, from a nearby table, there came a chuckle, deep yet feminine. 

“Heading for Whitestone, are you?” asked the woman sat there, her face partially obscured by the goblet she still had to her mouth with a gloved hand. 

Vex immediately straightened her back and became defensive. “Who thinks it’s any of their business to know?” 

“Oh no need for that,” the stranger said softly. “All travellers ought to beware when visiting new cities. ‘Specially with talk of murders, eh?”

She lowered her goblet and leant back into the shadows before the three Half-Elves could get a decent look of her. All they had seen was a thin face belonging to a Human woman in her early forties and strands of black hair curling over her well-defined cheek bones. Yet from the shadows, the woman’s eyes were still piercing as they caught the light of a wall sconce. 

“What do you know about them?” Keyleth asked quietly, tensing as the Human casually brought up such a subject as murder.

The woman shrugged and examined the wine in her goblet. “...It’s a thorough job, I’ll say that.”

There were alarm bells ringing in the twins’ heads but the last thing they could afford to do was to act on impulse and give in to those fears. 

“Have you seen any of the victims?” asked Vax, not realising that his right hand had drifted towards his belt and the nearest dagger. 

“As a matter of fact, I have, in Kymal,” answered the Human. “What’s been left of them, anyway. Like I said - a very thorough job.” She took her time in taking a large gulp of wine, savouring it with a satisfied air as she tilted back in her chair and crossed her legs. Vex was trying to see if she carried any weapons on her but she saw nothing yet. “...If you’re going to Whitestone, just be warned; it’s a fair distance between here and there and if cities are going to be shutting their borders then you might just find yourself stuck out in the wild with the murderer on the loose. Might even share a roadway with them. Maybe take a drink together in the same inn.” She chuckled again and then leant forward, out of the darkness, and lifted her goblet towards them as though making a toast. “...Wouldn't that be _exciting_?”

Vax had already felt suspicion bubbling up inside like a heating pot of water but now he felt unsettled. “...Don’t suppose you know how many bodies have been found relating to the killer?” 

“Oooh, now how could anyone know the exact number?” the woman said, far too much merriment on her face for someone talking about such a dark subject although how much of that was the result of the liquor was unknown. “We don’t know how many more people lose their lives where we can’t see. Or how many unimportant nobodies get bopped off without anyone feeling the need to report it. It’s only the significant cases that we hear about. There could be hundreds more victims. Wonder what happens to them...” 

“And what do you think? Do you know if the murderer has hit Whitestone?” Vex then asked, watching the creepy woman’s reaction closely. 

The Human hummed and raised her cup, swallowing down everything that remained of her drink with a few gulps. She let out a breath of satisfaction and moistened her lips appreciatively, one of her fingers from her _bare_ left hand coming up to wipe away a drip that had escaped her mouth. 

“It’s either yes or no,” Vax muttered. “Or do you not know?” 

After taking a second to examine the drop of ale she’d wiped up, the woman popped her finger into her mouth and licked it. 

“I think...” she finally answered, “maybe?” 

Keyleth privately gulped. “...Where are you heading to, then? Not to Whitestone?”

The woman’s cold dark eyes locked with the druid.

“Maybe to Whitestone. If they’ll let us in.” She leant forward again, pushing away her cup as she got to her feet. “Wouldn’t do if it just so happened to be one of us that’s been going around killing people. Now would it? Good night.”

She turned her back and headed up to the rooms, her hands, one gloved and the other bare, held in front of her. 

“Well,” coughed Vex, “she’s terrifying.”

Vax seemed to agree and motioned his hand to one of the men tending to the tables. “I’m going to need another round of drinks.” 

The man, possibly a son or close relative of the tavern keeper judging by his appearance, seemed to have been watching their interaction with the woman. His eyes were dark and his brow creased as he came over with a large jug of mead. 

“...Yer want t’ be rethinkin’ who yer keepin’ company with,” he mumbled as he topped up each of their cups. 

“Oh we... we don’t know her,” Vax said, pressing some gold into the man’s hand. “She just started talking with us.”

The man shook his head. “Ah, don’t entertain folk th’ likes of ‘er. Bad sort.”

Vex’s hand gripped her fist. “Define ‘bad sort’.” 

“Got mad look ‘bout ‘er,” he said. “Th’ type t’ look fer answers but don’t rightly care ‘bout what gets in ‘er way. Gods ‘ave mercy on th’ fools that try n’ stop ‘er.” 

“Researcher? Archivist? Explorer? Scientist?” Vax prompted for clarification. “What does she do?” 

“Scientist, aye,” the server grumbled. “Goes by th’ name, Doctor Ripley. Not got anythin’ ‘gainst doctors, be ‘em medics or scientists, but that one... she goes ‘gainst morals, if yer follow. Don’t care ‘bout right an’ wrong. Jus’ wants what she wants. ‘Tween you n’ me... wouldn’t su’prise me if she were done fer murder.”

A cold feeling settled on the table and several throats ran dry. 

“In this day and age, sir,” Vex coughed, “that’s a mighty strong accusation.” 

“Aye, I know ‘bout th’ murders. I don’t want t’ say nothin’ ‘bout nobody... but if yer askin’ me...” The man shuddered and a little ale sloshed over the edge of his jug slightly. “Where’re there’s been a murder... there’s been ‘ _er_. Right be’ind, almost. I know that ‘cause she’d be in ‘ere some days talkin’ ‘bout them afore th’ knowledge’s been told t’ th’ people.”

Keyleth’s eyes enlarged almost like a cat’s. “You think she might be the actual murderer?” 

“I don’t think, I jus’ pour th’ drinks an’ clean tables.” As though to confirm that, he pulled the cloth from over his shoulders and began to wipe up the small spillage he’d made. Then he lowered his voice. “But she either knows th’ killer or she’s th’ killer ‘erself. An’ I don’t rightly know which o’ those I like least.” Shaking his head, he moved away. “Bad sort.”

For a few minutes, the three of them hid themselves in their drinks and tried to drown out the quiet chatter of the room but nothing could persuade their skin to stop feeling cold and prickly. Nor their unease at the thought that the strongest link to the murderer so far was just upstairs. 

“Well I know I want to be leaving as soon as possible,” Keyleth mumbled and adjusted her antlers. “Do we have to stay the night?” 

“It’s too risky travelling in the dark, even with a bear,” replied Vex, missing her companion even more. 

“But what do you think? That woman gave me the creeps but that doesn’t mean she’s our murderer.” 

“And for all we know, that man could be half crazy too and is just spitting nonsense,” said Vax, rubbing his eyes. 

“I think it’s probably best we take everything with a grain of salt and don’t jump to conclusions,” Vex sighed. “We technically can’t afford to trust anyone other than ourselves.”

* * *

Whitestone was, without doubt, a city of Pelor the Dawnfather when the sun shined down upon it. At night, when one of Sehanine’s moons were full, the pale rock of Whitestone glittered silver but under Pelor’s sun, it was gold. 

Up on the courtyard wall, the captain of the Whitestone Riflemen had just stifled a yawn as he watched the sun go down, bathing the houses and buildings of the city below in a wash of pinks and oranges. Two crows came flying up from the graveyard towards the castle, cawing at him as they flapped overhead in the direction of one of the castle turrets. 

“How goes the watch?” asked a voice. 

The captain contained a small startle as he carefully turned in the direction of the voice to where a hooded figure had quietly approached him. The figure tilted their head a bit to reveal her pale cheekbones and her bright blue eyes. 

“My lady.” The captain immediately bowed, turning the barrel of his rifle away from her. “All appears quiet tonight, Lady Cassandra. I will give my final report to Lord Percival before the guard shift.” He looked back towards the city as the lady came to stand beside him. “How fares my Lordship this evening?”

Cassandra sighed. “He is concerned, as are we all. I am sure he will want to speak with you in person. You are under his command, after all.” 

“And to what do I owe _your_ visit, my Lady?”

He had heard her sigh from beneath her hood and she wrapped her cloak around her more to shield herself from the early autumn air. 

“...I wish we were certain that we are alone so I could insist on you calling me by my first name, Captain Leoré.” 

“As do I, Lady Cassandra.”

Captain Kynan Leoré of the Whitestone Riflemen (or, ‘His Lord’s Musketeers’, as the common people liked to call them) had only held his position for a short while but, in that time, his devotion and loyalty to the de Rolos had impressed Percival and Cassandra. To the former, he had proved a capable and faithful soldier, worthy to be entrusted with a firearm and to the latter, he had shown himself a caring bodyguard and a gentle friend. There was much that Lady Cassandra and Captain Leoré had in common and it was perhaps why that, as a result, the pair of rogues had bonded and had slowly begun to realise deep, emotional feelings for one another.

They were both fiercely loyal to Lord Percival and shared a desire to help and protect him. 

“...As far as anyone is concerned,” Cassandra began with a smirk, “I am here for a report of my own. I am, of course, anxious as to the welfare of this city and before I retire to bed I would make sure that there have been no worrisome happenings. I have already been reported to by Captain Jarret of the Pale Guard.” 

“As one of the Riflemen of Whitestone,” Captain Leoré teased with his own playful smile, “it is to my Lord Percival that I am obliged to _officially_ report.”

If Percival took charge of the Whitestone Riflemen, the soldiers that patrolled the high walls of the castle, then Cassandra had the Pale Guard, the soldiers that patrolled the city and guarded the gates. The third military group of Whitestone were the Grey Hunters which were shared between the two noble siblings. These were the rangers that patrolled on the outer city walls and the Parchwood forest around it. 

“Mmm, maybe I am here in his behalf.” Cassandra stepped slightly closer so that her arm was brushing his. She felt him press against her in return. 

“You are a kind and fair noble.”

For a few minutes, a comfortable silence passed between them as they stood and watched, from afar, the city lamps begin to be lit throughout the streets so that it appeared as though hundreds of little fireflies were stirring. 

The night air was starting to set in and made many attempts to bite at Cassandra’s cheeks. 

“How peacefully still the city seems now...” she commented as the last of the sun’s rays vanished. 

“Like a forest pond,” Kynan nodded. “So calm and serene on the surface and yet such life goes on beneath.” 

Cassandra shifted and asked, “Do you ever miss Emon?” For that was the city from which Kynan had come from.

Kynan thought about his life with his father, a butcher. He had been a bad-tempered fellow and didn’t appear to think very much of his son’s ambitions at all. There hadn’t been much fondness between them. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But Emon is so large that it can easily swallow you if you let it. Unless you are born to the Cloudtop District, it is challenging to find a place among her people. I was never content with being a butcher like my father. Here in Whitestone, I feel I am worth more.” 

“You are,” agreed Cassandra, perhaps a little too quickly. “My brother speaks highly of you and you have been a dear friend to me in your short time here.”

Kynan breathed in the cool Whitestone air and found his free hand searching for hers, hidden beneath her cloak. 

“...You are still troubled though,” he told her softly, his voice full of love. “What preys on your mind so terribly that you cannot trust to tell me?”

Cassandra felt his hand and she grasped it tightly with her porcelain fingers. 

“Kynan...” she said to him. His name from her lips warmed the captain. “If only I could say. But with so many enemies around us, I dare not. Not that I believe _you_ are an enemy and would betray us but because I could not bear it if something should happen to you as a result of my indiscretion.”

Kynan stroked her hand as wisps of blond brown hair tickled his eyes. “...It hurts me, but I do understand. All I can do is pray that whatever monsters keep you living in fear are soon destroyed, Cassandra.”

Lady Cassandra threw caution to the wind for a moment by leaning further into him, wondering quickly if she could kiss him and move away before anyone saw.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as her mouth moved to tantalisingly brush his ear with her lips. 

“When are you relieved?” 

Kynan’s breath caught. “In two hours.”

Before he could enjoy her warm breath on his skin, Cassandra had pulled away and composed herself, adjusting her hood as her face shone in delight. 

“Then I will be waiting for you. You know where.”

* * *

From the tower room, Percival watched through the scope of his famous rifle gun, Bad News, as his sister left the wall and he shook his head with a grin. He had only gone up there to take a quick look at the walls and had seemingly got more than he bargained for. Not that this was a great surprise; Percy had suspected there being something occurring between Cassandra and Kynan for a while now. This only confirmed it.

“Oh Cass,” he chuckled to himself, putting the gun away as one of the crows flew up to perch at the tower window. “You and my captain think yourselves so clever, don’t you?” He sighed and leant on the sill, rubbing his face and the tired circles that shadowed his eyes.

 _Crrrrr_ purred the crow, tilting it’s head. 

Percy gave the crow a scratch on the head and then retreated back into the tower, planning on finding his way down to his office. The crow cawed again and then took off into the air, wheeling round to find it’s family roosting on the castle.

The moon came out and eventually Captain Leoré’s watch finished. He felt a chill in the air as his relief came to take up the next shift and he returned to the Barracks to warm up and safely pack away his weapon before going to make his report to the lord of the castle. 

Checking his appearance and ignoring the two guards that wandered slowly back and forth along the hallway, Captain Leoré lifted his chin and took up a military stance before he knocked on the door and awaited summons. 

The office had been inherited by Percival from Lord Frederick de Rolo, his father, and had been passed from generation to generation of sons. Had the eldest de Rolo son, Julius, not been killed before his time, he would most likely have inherited the office instead. The old wood and leather office suited Percival well, however. The only addition he had made to the office was the clock that rhythmically ticked away on the mantelpiece - one of Percy’s own creations. On the wall above the clock was a painting of Whitestone Castle and on the opposite wall, a dark painting of a frighteningly large wolf with a raven flying above it. Around the room were bookshelves and dressers and two dark leather seats were placed before the fire, one of which was currently occupied by one of the castle cats who harmonised the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock with a soft purr. Kynan recalled Cassandra saying that the cat had reminded her of her brother because it was white-furred and blue eyed. It didn’t respond to the captain’s entrance as it was quite deaf. 

The smoke from the fireplace hung heavy in the room and cast Lord Percival, sat at his grand desk in a high back leather chair, in an eerie and almost sinister frame but Kynan knew the man well and the only fear he had for him was a healthy one, born of respect and a desire to please him. He gave his report and bowed, relishing the nod of pride and respect that Percy always gave him. 

“Good night, my Lord,” Kynan said, turning to leave. 

“Likewise, Captain Leoré,” Percival smiled and waited until the young man had gone (in the direction of Cass’ room, no doubt) before he leant his head back and felt his smile fall away. He decided he would have to descend to his workshop in order to tinker through some of his emotions. 

On one hand, he was happy for his sister and, on the other hand, he was jealous. Jealous that she might find and experience something that he never would. 

Love was not something that would likely come his way and he tried convincing himself that he was grateful for that. He knew what his future was and it wasn’t a happy one.

What right did he have to break even more hearts?


	10. “It’s where things start getting weird.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, rounded with a little sleep.”  
> \- The Tempest

According to the very helpful guards, three Half-Elves had left the Turst Fields a day or so ago and hadn’t been seen since. 

“Gods, do Half-Elves not slow down?” Scanlan had commented, his shoulders sagging as they were left to tootle around the small city aimlessly. “They couldn’t wait for even a couple more hours?” His feet stopped as they passed the cemetery, not failing to take note of the freshly dug graves which sported clean tombstones and new flowers. “Pike will still think we’re meeting here so I guess we should wait for her,” he added, hurriedly moving off. “Which means, big guy, we’re getting a drink.” 

“Yeah!” cheered Grog, a reinvigorated energy lighting each step. “Best thing you’ve said today!” 

“Excuse you, I’ve said plenty of great things today.”

* * *

A log spat aggressively in the fireplace and a small glowing nugget of coal was jettisoned from the embers, bouncing off the grill and coming to rest at the foot of the woman sat reading her book in her chair. She paid it no mind as her full attention was diverted to the soft sound of the door to the parlour room opening and then closing. Though she could discern no noise or footsteps, she was not taken by surprise when she felt the touch of strong fingers curl over her shoulder and carefully squeeze. 

“My dear,” spoke a loving baritone voice in her ear. 

“Darling,” she replied with a smile, twisting her neck as her husband’s icy lips rested against her throat to kiss her. She shivered in anticipation knowing that behind his lips were a pair of fangs that could easily sink through her skin if he ever chose to exert himself. 

After their customary greeting was finished, Sylas Briarwood stepped towards his own chair adjacent to his wife and lowered himself into it.

Her book discarded, Delilah Briarwood watched him with love in her eyes, admiring his long limbs and his sculptured cheekbones. 

“Where is she now?” she asked him. 

“Last time she contacted us,” answered Sylas, “she had left the Turst Fields.” 

“Ah, she’s made better progress than she anticipated then. Excellent.” Delilah smoothed out her skirts. “If that’s the case, I believe we might do well to prepare for our own travels.” 

“I quite agree, my dear. The children have been spending too much time on the road and so many innocent lives have had to pay for it. Unfortunate really. Best that they wait for us in Whitestone.” 

Delilah could not help but mirror her husband’s grin though she bore no sharpened teeth to quite match him. She did, however, lift her chin in order to address the man who stood sullenly by the window. 

“...What say you, Professor?” she called. “Are you ready to go home?” 

With his hands clasped behind his back and his head low, Professor Anders was a sulking figure that seemed to blend with the curtains that blocked out any sunlight that might try finding it’s way through in the morning. He turned to the devilish couple by the fire with a sour expression. 

“It has been made quite clear to me, my lord and lady, that I am no longer permitted to call that city ‘home’,” he said. 

“No need for such morose speech,” Delilah sighed, taking up her book again. “Home is where the heart is, as they say.” 

“I have been told that I possess no heart.” 

“Come now, Anders, he was only being spiteful,” Sylas chuckled. “He was a boy. Still _is_ a boy. You mustn’t allow the bites of an insolent child to hurt you so much. I know you once harboured some fondness for him but put that aside and focus on what’s truly important, won’t you?” 

Anders turned back to the window and grunted. 

“Forgive him, my dearest,” Delilah sighed. “He holds Anna in very little esteem as you know. It must be frustrating to have to leave such an important task in her hands.”

Anders opened his mouth to protest but he wasn’t able to formulate the right witty words in time before a sharp knock rattled the door frame. 

Lord and Lady Briarwood needed no visual confirmation on who it was for Kerrion Stonefell had a particularly unique way of knocking. When he was permitted to enter, he ambled in casually, throwing a smug sort of smile towards Anders and bobbing his head in a form of forced respect towards Sylas and Delilah. 

“You are prepared then?” Sylas asked before Stonefell had a chance to address them. His unnatural eyes caused a cold jolt to shoot down the spine of his addressee. 

“Yes,” replied Stonefell, stiffening. “I leave within the hour.” 

“Good.” Sylas reclined in his chair and danced his lanky fingers over the arm. “Good. Give Anna our assurances when you see her. Let her know that we will join her very soon.”

Sir Stonefell bowed awkwardly and retreated back through the way he came, leaving Professor Anders to continue brooding and the Briarwoods to continue relishing one another’s presence in the glow of the fire.

* * *

With a half tankard in hand, Grog had left Scanlan busking in a tavern and went wandering off around town, paying no mind to the worried townspeople who bolted out of his way and hid behind doors when they saw him coming, whether it was because he was used to the fear or because he, in all honesty, did not notice them in his low perceptive state. 

There was a shadowy stretch of the road that ran out of the Turst Fields and towards the town of Drynna, known for the odd highway ambush and it was in that direction that Grog found himself heading, somewhat blindly as most of his vision was obscured by the pint of ale he was keeping pressed to his lips. He only stumbled a couple of times and by the time he reached the road, his drink was finished.

It was very quiet, as most roads were these days. People wanted to stay inside and stay at home, only daring to travel if there were a good strong group of them going en masse. The fear of being picked off by a murderer meant that security came in numbers but numbers, apparently, weren’t enough to entice people from Drynna, from the looks of things.

Grog wanted to look thoughtful and he absent-mindedly took another swig of his drink before remembering that he’d finished it. That was disappointing. 

“Hey! You!” shouted a voice from behind and a small man came dashing towards him with a stick in his hand. “This is a crime scene! What do you think you’re doing around- oh, HOLY mother of-!” He skidded to a halt upon realising the size and race of his would-be target and he immediately dropped his stick, falling to his knees in the mud. “Sweet Changebringer, protect me! Luck favour me, please, I pray!”

Grog wasn’t entirely sure why this man, who wasn’t even a guard, had run at him with such a bolt start and then had then finished it so poorly by whimpering into the floor. That was a sure fire way to get yourself eaten by the Goliath Herd that Grog had been born into and had escaped from some years ago. 

He looked around for anyone watching who might have been able to clue Grog in as to what this bizarre behaviour meant but unfortunately he was left guessing. So, resisting the impulse to see what it would be like to have a bite of him, he cautiously stepped forward and bent down, resting his hands on his knees. 

“...You drop somethin’?”

The man, his black woolly hair dishevelled and his scruff of facial hair unruly, slowly lifted his head, his lips quivering. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m askin’ if you dropped somethin’,” Grog repeated. 

The man actually looked around on the ground pathetically, knowing full well he hadn’t. 

“Uh... no?” 

“Oh.” Grog cocked his head to the side. “Why are you down on the floor then? Did you trip?”

The man whimpered again and hid his head behind his arms. “Please don’t hurt me!” 

“I ain’t gonna smack you for fallin’ over,” said Grog, very confused now. “Not unless we were tryin’ to be stealthy and sneak somewhere. Then I would smack you. Are you gonna get up or do you like it down there?” 

“I... I can get up,” stammered the man. “I’ll get up!”

Sure enough, he hurried to his feet but made no move to pick up his stick. He stood on wobbly legs, shaking like a leaf in a storm in front of the half giant of a man. 

Grog straightened up and put his hands on his hips. 

“Still got your balls?” he asked.

His hand went to his crotch. “Y-yes?” 

“Good job.” 

“Wait!” the man called as Grog turned away to look at the road again. “Wait, who... What are you doing?” 

“I’m doin’ somethin’ called ‘investigation’,” Grog answered, waving his hand around which caused the man to flinch. “You probably don’t know it.”

“You’re investigating? What, then, are you...?” The man’s eyes widened. “Is it about... the murders?” 

“Ooh! You know that?” Grog said excitedly, clapping his hands and giving the poor fellow another cause to flinch violently. “Good! You can be my witness then!” 

“I...” 

“Nope, not important. What’s your name?” 

“David.” 

“...Right. Not important. Come help me by answerin’ some questions I’m gonna ask you. Right, first up - who died here?”

Grog was pointing at the ground and poor simple David looked down at the spot as though following the Goliath’s exact instructions might warn him some mercy. He wasn’t to know that Grog had no desire to harm him. 

“...Uh... I think my father said it was the two bandits,” said David. “This part of the road was known for thieves to jump travellers and rob them.”

Grog lifted his left hand a bit and waggled his thick leathery fingers back and forth, trying to work out if he could remember which number of digits amounted to ‘two’. 

“So, were there people who saw ‘em get killed?” 

“No. If there were then we’d probably know who killed them.” 

“Ah, that’s a very good point there,” Grog hummed, stroking his bearded chin. “Boy, that’s a sneaky thing the murderer did, makin’ sure no-one saw. Very smart. Very smart. We’re workin’ with someone who has big brains. Probably jus’ as well that I’m on this case.” 

“Are you from Emon?” David asked, daring to look hopeful. “Emon said they’d send investigators.” 

Grog wasn’t entirely sure what to say. His brain jolted between wanting to correct the man and say that he was actually from Westruun and then play it up in order to win some extra respect by confirming that, yes, he WAS sent from an important place like Emon. Panicking, his head underwent a very brief and aggressive restart and he blurted out the first thing he thought of: 

“I like Emon’s shopping district.”

Well _that_ was a lie; he hated Emon’s shopping district. 

“What?” 

“Not important, man! Not important,” Grog hurriedly flapped. “Ask me my questions. No. Dammit. Let _me_ ask _you_ questions. Next questions. _Question_.” He loudly swore. Whenever he panicked as to what to say, Grog’s brain always took a minute or so to boost itself back up. “Right. My next question. Were these gents killed in a beautifully...” He recalled what Scanlan had said about choosing his words carefully. “...Were they killed in a, sort of, big way?”

David blinked at him. 

“Bit of artistry?” Grog clarified. 

To that, David turned his face away, a dark expression taking over him. “...If you call dismemberment, disembowelling and complete disfigurement ‘art’ then I suppose so.” 

“I know all those ‘dis’ words,” nodded Grog, smartly deciding not to confess that he did in fact consider them art. “They’re my favourite ‘dis’ words. Can you go into any more detail?” David looked at him in disgust. “...I guess not. Okay. Cool. How would you say, then, that they were dis-remembered and dis-unbowled and all that? Some kind of dis-openin’ and dis-guttin’ spell?” 

“No magic could have done this,” said David. “Only a disintegration spell, perhaps, but this wasn’t Disintegration.” 

“Another ‘dis’ word. Lovely. So no magic?” 

“Not that our arcane users could sense.” 

“...Huh...” Now Grog was truly confused.

Scanlan had said that a potential suspect who was likely to be the murderer may have been someone of the arcane because of their interest in whitestone or whatever it was that Scanlan was going on about... but these _weren’t_ killed by magic?

“Are you sure?” Grog asked. 

“The bandits were torn apart manually,” David told him, his brown face looking queasy. “Whoever was responsible couldn’t have walked away without being soaked in blood.” 

“Lucky bast- I mean, yeah, that would have given it away, wouldn’t it?”

He waited for a few moments to give the impression that he was deep in thought about something complex in the hopes that it might further intimidate the man. Then he spun round with the deftness that could make a weaker person shriek and landed his giant hand on David’s shoulder. 

“Right then, kibble,” he barked with a smile. “You’re coming with me to see my friend so you can go ahead and tell him everything exactly what you told me.”

David very nearly fainted.

* * *

As his fingers brushed against the last string of his lute, the tavern room filled itself with claps. The people of the Turst Fields seemed genuinely appreciative of Scanlan’s efforts to cheer them up and his magic music had calmed and appeased them for a little while at least. 

He found a certain degree of melancholy lodging in his heart as he smiled round at the small audience of delighted faces, many of whom had been drinking in the tavern before and some belonging to ones that had been passing by on the road outside and had stepped in to better experience the music. They were like children who had been starved of attention and were so eager to lap up any form of cheer.

Before, Scanlan had only agreed to help out Keyleth because of Pike’s golden-heart desire to end this reign of terror that was slowly crippling Tal’Dorei one city at a time. Now, however, the bard found a genuine desire to help these people. He was only a small man in a very large world but here, in this tavern, he had temporarily lightened the emotional burdens of a group of everyday folk who he didn’t know but were so desperately in need of help. 

Some had begun to hand over the odd coin of gold or bit of silver but Scanlan, for the very first time, didn’t feel right about taking it. He had only approached the tavern keeper to ask permission in order to perform because he hadn’t been able to stand such a quiet, depressed atmosphere. The change in mood was enough to repay him for something he didn’t even consider to be hard work. 

“Keep your coins,” he had told the people nearest him, the most earnest he had been in a long time.

Then he saw a flash of white hair at the back of the room and his heart swelled in hope and relief as the beautiful face of Pike Trickfoot appeared between the bodies of people returning to their seats. She was sat a small table, leaning on her elbow and smiling warmly at the Gnome on the small stage. 

He hopped off the platform and went weaving around the larger folk, practically running, until he had almost tripped into Pike’s lap. 

“Pike? Pike!” he smiled and he had swept her up into a firm hug, surprising both of them by actually lifting her up slightly. “Oh I know I often say that your face could brighten all the Raven Queen’s temples but right now I couldn’t mean it more!”

Pike found herself laughing and when she was returned to her feet, she took Scanlan by the cheek and affectionately rubbed his nose. 

“In a place such as this,” she replied, “I am more than willing to believe you for once. I heard you from outside and reasoned that there were only a few people in the world that knew how to use music to move the spirit like you do.” Pike took her hand away and sat back down. “Scanlan, that performance was beautiful. It was amazing what you did.” 

“Ah...” Scanlan waved his hand as if embarrassed. “No different to how I feel when I see you bringing people back from the brink of death. I thought of you and tried to do the same. Only, I was attempting to bring people’s _thoughts_ back from the brink of death.”

Pike glanced around the tavern and noted the merrier looking faces and the smiles of appreciation being sent in Scanlan’s direction. 

“I would say you have succeeded.” 

“But this hasn’t been the only thing, you know!” Scanlan added quickly, taking the seat opposite her. “We’ve been asking questions and getting answers as well. It’s not all music and laughs.” 

“And how many whore houses have you enquired in?” Pike asked mischievously and couldn’t prevent the giggle of delight at seeing the expression Scanlan’s face. 

“...Only one,” he admitted. “But we didn’t partake! We only asked questions relating to the... you know.” He cleared his throat and made a quick glance of his surroundings to make sure that people weren’t listening. 

“Yeah...” Pike also took a quick look around. “I took a chance and left Westruun after I promised Wilhand that I’d find you guys. Have you heard from Keyleth and the twins?” 

“Only a message to say that they were heading for Whitestone and that we should meet there. Grog and I thought it best that we wait for you here still.” He noticed how Pike’s face suddenly looked solemn and she glanced down at the table, rubbing her eyes. “Are you okay, Pike?” he asked. “Let me get you a drink.” 

With two drinks of alcohol in his hands, both of which had been declared ‘on the house’ as a way of saying thanks for the performance, Scanlan wobbled back to the table and handed Pike the fuller of the two. Then he waited, watching as she took a few sips and sighed. 

“...I’m... Well, I haven’t been sleeping great,” she eventually explained.. “I didn’t tell the others at the time, because I didn’t think they meant anything, but I keep having bad dreams. Recurring dreams about some fiendish darkness and you mentioning white stone made me think about it.”

Scanlan tried not to look too alarmed. He had learnt with Pike that she could fret and worry easily so a good counter to that was to react to everything she said calmly and slowly. 

“Are you... I mean, you don’t have to say... but is it something you could describe to me?” he asked. He reached over and gently took her hand as he had seen her do many a time when comforting others and his heart thumped with love upon realising that she didn’t pull it away.

Pike swallowed another mouthful of her drink and took a deep breath. 

“It always starts like I’m high up on a mountain and, down below, there’s a valley,” she began. “But everything is white. The ground and the rocks and the plants are all just... just completely white and, to begin with, it feels warm. Then there’s this voice. I don’t know if it’s a man’s or a woman’s and it says...” She closed her eyes as she remembered. “...The voice says, ‘ _It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it_.’ Then, every time, I always bend down and I pick up a stone and it’s the only stone on top of this mountain and, like everything else, it’s white all over. I can never change this. I can’t stop myself from picking it up and... And I drop it off the edge and I watch it roll down into the valley and it makes other bits of rock and stone start to fall and they all stop in the middle of the valley in a large pile.” 

“So you start a mini white rock fall?” 

“I suppose. But the stones all make a pile in the valley and then there’s suddenly a tree in the middle of the pile, growing out from under the stones and it grows really big. And... Well, no-one tells me this but I just get the sense that’s it’s a tree of the sun. But that’s _also_ white in my dream, just like everything else.”

Pike reopened her eyes but it appeared as though she was staring off into nothing, her thoughts far away from this tavern room and the table she was sat at with Scanlan. Her fellow Gnome waited a moment, not wanting to interrupt. Instead, he nudged her mug. 

“Take another drink,” he said after a while in a soft voice.

Pike blinked, as if startled, and smiled in silent thanks as she tentatively took another sip. 

“It’s where things start getting weird,” she continued. “It gets cold in my dream and there’s this... something. Something starts bleeding out of the rocks and it looks like some kind of inky black shadow. Everything gets dark and the shadow gets bigger and it looks right up at me. Not that it has eyes but you just... You just get that impression, you know?”

Scanlan nodded and Pike could tell he meant it. She had his complete attention and his focus was only on her. 

“So it just stares at me and it’s... scary. It doesn’t move for ages and _I_ can’t move and all I can do is stare back until it...” Pike’s hand tightened around Scanlan’s fingers. “...It sprints. It comes up the mountain, sprinting towards me and it leaps at my face and I scream and...” Pike took a shuddering breath and realised that she’d been squeezing Scanlan a bit too tightly and immediately let go, trying to smile apologetically. “Then I wake up.”

Scanlan wrinkled his nose and made no mention at the lack of blood circulation in his hand. 

“No wonder you haven’t been sleeping,” he murmured. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

Pike nodded. “From time to time, yes.”

Scanlan sighed. “Well, in that case, you’ll have to tell me next time and I’ll play you something on my flute to chase that shadow away.”

The cleric smiled properly at him, knowing full well that this sentimental side of Scanlan was often outshined by the sexual innuendo Scanlan most of the time but right now, she had no doubt of his earnestness. She hadn’t taken her hand away yet. 

“I’m proud of you,” she said, blinking through strands of powdery white hair.

Scanlan felt his cheeks warm. 

“I...” He coughed. “You- You’re probably wondering where Grog is. I’m wondering that too - not that I’ve lost him! But... There he is.”

Grog came stomping in through the door, startling a couple of people who were passing by with their drinks and, at seeing the two Gnomes, his face broke out into a beaming smile. 

“Pike! Buddy!” he cheered, leaping towards the table. With him came the terrified man who’s collar was in the grip of the Goliath. 

“Hey Buddy! Who’s your new friend?” Pike asked, shooting the man a sympathetic look. 

“It’s so good to see you, Pike!” Grog moaned happily, releasing the man so he could wrap his enormous trunk-like arms around the tiny Gnome. “Oh yeah, this little nibble here is Darvo. He says the bodies weren’t killed by any magic stuff.” 

“Grog,” Pike quickly warned. “Voice down.” 

“Oh right, yeah! So Doober here says that the bodies weren’t killed by-” 

“Weren’t killed by magic?” Scanlan repeated and a real look of puzzlement came to him. He glanced to the stranger with questioning eyes. 

“Uh... I’m David,” he correctly introduced himself, deciding that a couple of friendly faced Gnomes were much less intimidating than a whole grown Goliath who was actually, at this time, more interested in snuggling one of them in his arms.

It was soon told that David was the eldest son of one of the town guards and that his father had apparently been present when the mangled remains of the two bandits had been discovered. His father, being a paladin of the Changebringer with a mild access to some magic, hadn’t been able to detect any magical residue in the area. This was later confirmed by more academically trained wizards and clerics that had come to cleanse the area some time later.

Scanlan explained the evidence found in Kymal had suggested that the suspect had a knowledge of the arcane due to an interest in a substance known as whitestone which was, interestingly, most commonly found and exported from the very city that the Half-Elves had decided to continue on to. 

“You can see where we put two and two together,” Scanlan had said. 

“But if David here says that it _doesn’t_ look as though arcane magic was involved...” Pike murmured to herself. 

“Ooh, Scanlan?” Grog piped. “What was it you said? You said that people who kill others that quietly without bein’ seen would be people that can do magic and people like rogues, right?” 

“Rogues,” David echoed. He’d finally relented and had accepted a seat next to Scanlan. “Aye, father said something about the killer being a shady assassin but...” He shrugged. “I mean, not having any offence towards rogues, but they tend to prefer doing the bare minimum, right? They like cutting a neck and then leaving them as they are while they work through the pockets. I don’t know of a rogue that likes to separate the victim into pieces.” 

“And there were _two_ bandits,” Scanlan added. He was frequently checking their volume and making sure that people weren’t listening to them. “Would have had to have been quick to deal with both of them at the same time. Then there’s the Townsends from Kymal. They were miles away from each other.”

David, however, didn’t know anything of any other murders from outside of town so all he could contribute to the discussion was the confirmation that the two bandits were likely killed together, not separately, as they were known to work as partners, flanking wagons and coaches along the road.

Pike finished her drink. 

“Then I say we get moving,” she announced, already picking up her shield. “I’m not leaving the other three alone with a murderer who can get rack up a multiple body count in one swoop.” 

“Wow, Emon really sent some great investigators,” David whistled. 

“Emon?” 

“Thanks Damien for your witnessing,” interrupted Grog, pushing the man out of his seat and towards the door. “Enjoy your, whatever. Goodbye. Bidet. We’ll miss you.”

* * *

_“I can’t...._

_Head hurts. I get so cross. ~~Ahhhh~~._

_i want to sleep but for the dreams... I can’t sleep.  
if I sleep... _

_im needed somewhere. It’s time. I’m being ~~cacccccc~~ called._

_I don’t know who by.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, readers who know their ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ and their ‘Frankenstein’ may be able to spot a few book quotes peppered here and there.
> 
> They fit far too well to not include them and of course full credit for them go to  
> Robert Louis Stevenson and Mary Shelley


	11. “Nobody stays in Whitestone.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now is the winter of our discontent.”  
> \- Richard III

When Keyleth had last seen Whitestone Castle over five years ago, she had admired it’s beauty and the almost polished white glow that it gave off, exactly like the castles that featured in some romantic fairytales, illustrated in children's books. 

The now sullen, smoke grey version of it came as a chilling shock to her. 

Seeing the tallest of the castle’s turrets crest over the land in the distance, she had almost stumbled and stopped in the road.

The castle did no longer look like a place to hear the laughter of children running through the halls, dashing from room to room, playing hide and seek and commandeering the blankets and tapestries in order to build forts, rolling balls for the dogs and dragging string along for the cats to chase. It was not the home to find beautiful horses waiting in their stalls and shaking their manes when the young lords and ladies came running to feed them treats, nor was it the same place that once had the youngsters chasing one another through the gardens.

As for the city that the castle stood watch over...

Whitestone was a silver city that shone in the sun and sparkled in the snow.

This was _not_ Whitestone. Not this dark, sad town full of gloom and secrets.

When it used to snow, Keyleth would follow the de Rolo children to the fields to throw snowballs and skate on the pond and when it was sunny, they’d try and catch each other round the Sun Tree in the centre square, or make dens and go splashing in the river in the Parchwood forest on the castle outskirts. 

The only children she could see now were the ones who kept close to home, within distance of a parental figure, and used whitestone rock to draw on the cobblestones like chalk. Dogs regarded the newcomers suspiciously as they walked with their masters and up on the rooftops were the cats and birds, keeping watch or slinking away to their own homes. 

“Well, we made it.” Vax looked around the place with a frown, absorbing it’s melancholy atmosphere. In a quieter voice he added, “We may have a murderer wandering around here. Keyleth? What do you recommend we do first?” 

“I... Well, truth be told, I didn’t think this far ahead. Anywhere else in Tal’Dorei would have been fine but here...” Keyleth looked up at the wooden houses that lined the roads, interspaced among smaller tree saplings and oil street-lamps. “...I suppose the best place to head to first is always an inn or tavern, right?” 

“Aways the place to find people to talk to,” Vex agreed, “and we need to find out if the killer has produced any victims since their arrival.”

Keyleth nodded silently and took the lead. She clutched her staff to her as they walked on the left hand side of the road, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there, trying not to make eye contact with the residents for fear that she may be recognised. Despite keeping her long red hair covering her face for most of the way, Keyleth seemed to guide the twins towards one of the taverns on the corner, a quaint little pub called ‘ _Journey’s End_ ’.

Trinket earned a couple of surprised looks but the people of Whitestone seemed to be unbothered by strange occurrences happening in their city and they moved on without making any verbal comment. Even when entering the tavern, the patrons cast the bear almost amused glances when he first pushed his way inside, but when it was noted that he was with the Half-Elves they went back to their own conversations. 

The people in the ‘Journey’s End’ weren’t as dour as the city implied they might be and they chatted with one another amiably enough, occasionally chuckling and throwing a few half hearted slaps to their neighbours in their attempt to get drunk. In Vax’s mind, it felt as though everyone had recently attended a funeral and had come to the pub afterwards knowing that the deceased would have wanted them to have a good time despite the sorrow; a false and almost convincing facade of being a merry room of drinkers to hide the underlying sense of sadness. Though mouths smiled, the eyes spoke of weariness. It would have felt less heart-breaking had they walked into a room where all the patrons were in obvious distress and were clearly mourning, their grief evident to all. 

Instead, they got a few nods of greeting and almost seemed to receive more looks of sympathy and worry from the tavern people than they themselves might try and give to them.

The only places to sit were the stools at the bar which meant having their backs to the room. Not Vax’s favourite thing so he he chose to remain standing, back to the bar and face to the room, while Trinket hunkered down by Vex’s stool, finding a puddle of something sticky on the floor to lick to distract himself from his uneasiness. 

“Ah,” said the bartender as he spotted them, swiftly ending a conversation with another patron with a brief raising of his hand. “Welcome. Can I get you anything?”

Keyleth asked for a drink but the twins did not. They wanted their wits firmly about themselves now that they were potentially in a city with a murderer. It was chilling, thinking about it; Within these walls, someone responsible for the demonic deaths of so many people was walking about, maybe in broad daylight. That person could be on the other end of town or only a few meters away.

Vex’ahlia thought to what that woman, the so-called Dr Ripley, had said, about maybe even being in the same tavern together...

With her keen hearing, Vex tried listening to the room and attempted a scan of the few people within her field of vision but she saw and heard no sign of anyone that could have been that woman from before. 

The bartender wasn’t, apparently, the talkative type and he did not offer any conversation after pouring a cup for Keyleth except for offering a sigh and a longing look of pity in their direction, just like everyone else. He walked back away, shaking his head. 

“So, we’re here now,” Vax murmured. “And from my viewpoint, we can pick one of two options: we go killer-hunting or we keep low profiles and wait until Pike, Scanlan and Grog get here.” 

“Now that we ARE here,” Keyleth said in a quiet voice, “I'm not all that keen on trying to find the killer without backup.” 

“Yes, I agree that would be foolish of us. I think then...” Vax’ildan stopped mid-sentence, his gaze freezing in the direction of the far corner of the tavern. 

“...Vax?” Keyleth prompted nervously, her mouth hidden behind her cup. 

But Vax’ildan wouldn’t reply.

He was staring off at something else. Something that commanded his complete focus and attention, if all his senses and gut instincts were telling him anything. 

“Vax, what is it?” Vex asked slowly, not in relation to what he was doing but for what he had obviously seen. She watched her brother’s movements closely, ready for a signal without looking around and giving the game away. 

Vax pressed his lips together and made a subtle movement with his eyelids, a short sharp ‘mm’ coming from his throat as he did. Vex immediately straightened her back and pressed her shoulder to Keyleth. Trinket, down by her feet, raised his head and turned it in the direction Vax was looking in, resisting the urge to growl too loudly. 

“What?” Keyleth asked quietly, sensitively picking up on some sort of aggressive shift in atmosphere. 

“Keep talking to me normally,” Vex murmured through her lips, pretending to play with the cup that the druid had been drinking from. “Don’t look around and don’t look worried. Focus on me. Talk to me.” 

“You’re freaking me out.” 

“Just talk to me.”

Keyleth’s eyes couldn’t help but quickly flicker to Vax for a second and her breathing began to increase in pace. 

“What did Vax say?” she asked, trying to slow her racing heartbeat. “What’s he seen?” 

“Calm down,” Vex told her in a low voice. “Calm down and talk to me. Stop looking worried. Vax says we’re being watched so I need you to act normal.” 

“Watched?” Keyleth hissed, not realising her fingernails were digging into the bar. 

The man in the corner was dressed in dark grey and was still watching them from across the room. He was alone save for a strong looking dog at his side who was also fixated on the Half-Elves.

Unnervingly, he hadn’t looked away and he had held Vax in direct eye contact with no indication that he wanted to be the first to break it. The dog companion was of the same demeanour, bright eyes trained on Vax as though he were waiting for him to flee like the rabbit he must have seen him as.

Vax hadn’t moved. He was staring down the figure in the corner, wondering who was going to make the first move, all the while examining him for any concealed weapons. His first impression was that the man was a Human, but his scarf, which was loosely draped around his neck, was covering most of his features. All that could be discerned was his dark brown skin and a pair of inquisitive eyes.

As for the dog, it was hard to tell of it’s size due to the fact that it had been lying down obediently but if the creature’s head was anything to go by, it was a massive dog. It’s legs were thick and stocky with wide paws and it’s fur was long. This was clearly a dog bred for life in the mountainous region of Whitestone and the Alabaster Sierras. It wasn’t quite the size of Trinket (no dog was) but it was bear-like enough that it might have given Trinket a good work-out if they ever got into a fight. 

Vex sighed and took a second to glance at her brother, watching and listening for further communication. She saw him fold his arms and extend a finger against his elbow as he ran a tongue over his lower lip. 

“One guy,” Vex translated in a whisper to Keyleth. “With an animal.”

Keyleth quietened and a calm, serene expression came over her face all of a sudden. She relaxed her shoulders but kept her chin up, something regal and dignified taking over her. The antlers atop her head stopped trembling and Vex’ahlia could not help but doubt if she’d seen a stag appear as mighty as the druid did in that moment. 

Vex said nothing. She watched in astonishment as Keyleth, for the very first time, no longer appeared as a meek and naive girl. In that brief transition, she looked as godly as the Wildmother herself.

A glow of magic twisted round the pupils of Keyleth’s eyes and the green of her irises brightened for a moment though she gazed impassively at the wall of bottles and drinks in front of her. Her fingers relaxed and her soft lips parted just slightly.

Vex’ahlia recognised a spell being cast and she kept her mouth shut, hoping that the druid knew what she was doing.

Using a nature sense, Keyleth immediately began receiving information on what animals were in the area, besides the Humans, Halflings, Half-Orcs and Dwarves that were in the room. She sensed Trinket the bear very close to her, two mice and four rats under the floorboards, a cat hunting another rat in the pantry, a ferret curled up in the pocket of a Halfling’s jacket, two crows and a raven on the roof and, in the direction that Vax was looking, a very large dog.

She focused on the dog and tried a ‘commune with nature’ spell, her magic reaching out to telepathically communicate with the animal. 

Vax saw the dog’s ears prick slightly. 

“ _You want to attack us?_ ” Keyleth asked in her head.

She felt the dog’s mind return the connection. 

“ _No,_ ” it answered. “ _You not attacking._ ”

Keyleth closed her eyes in concentration, trusting that Vex would cover for her if the bartender asked what was going on. 

“ _Why watching us?_ ” she next asked. 

“ _Make sure you good._ ”

Keyleth sucked on her own tongue and decided to take the plunge. 

“ _...We try find bad killer. Know where?_ ” It was her final spell question and for a second she wondered if she’d been too bold in asking such a question outright.

But she heard the dog whimper and then a whine came through her mind: 

“ _Bad killer find you. Bad killer find YOU._ ”

Vax tensed as the dog snorted and it’s master began to move. The man got up, keeping himself hidden and broke the eye contact, silently left the room with the dog following on his heels and no other person in the room took note.

Vax released his breath and immediately looked to his sister who was gesturing to Keyleth.

Keyleth opened her eyes and felt the magic of her spell dissipate. 

“...Apparently, that man and his dog weren’t threats,” she breathed. “But it’s confirmed that the killer is here somewhere. And that they’ll find us.” 

“What does that mean?” Vex asked. “That’s implying that the killer knows we’re after them. Which they don’t. They can’t. They don’t know us.”

She felt her chest tighten. 

“...They don’t know us... right?”

* * *

Dr Ripley sneered as a sharp twig snatched at her coat.

The last time she’d been in the Parchwood was when she was hot on the heels of Cassandra who had maliciously stolen her brother from his prison cell and had tried fleeing the castle with him. She would have caught them too had it not been for a sudden squadron of Whitestone commoners who had come charging to the children’s rescue, hay-forks and short swords and torches in hand like the rebellious rabble peasants that they were. 

She, of course, had found a way of blaming Stonefell’s soldiers for the loss of Percival and Cassandra.

Side-stepping a rotting log and ducking beneath another branch, Anna took a moment to grumble about her circumstances and how much she was owed for this. She had been promised her own laboratories and as much time as she desired to research and tinker and discover but instead she was here, plotting through an evergreen forest in order to try and infiltrate a city that she was only interested in for one thing. Two things _maybe_...

A particularly loud bird warbled a twittering song somewhere above her head.

At some point, she had remembered, she would have to look into establishing a way for Saundor to enter this forest so he could claim it for himself but, for now, she had enough from him to keep her going for a short while. 

Saundor’s essence, the blood of his tainted arch-fey spirit, was a much needed ingredient in her recent chemical and biological experiments that had so pleased and delighted the Briarwoods. It was a potent mixture of hatred and bitter resentment, a foul cocktail of negative emotions born from a creature who was once betrayed by someone he loved dearly.

A dark chuckle silenced the bird in the trees. 

“I have come to love the mistakes of others,” Anna voiced aloud. “They always seem to provide me with the exact things I need. Now if only they made it easier to collect those rich spoils...”

With another grumble, Anna Ripley pressed on further into the forest towards the direction of the castle.

* * *

“Lost?”

They had only just left ‘Journey’s End’ to peruse the market and scope out the area when a voice had stopped them before they could cross the road. They turned to discover that the question had been asked by one of the Pale Guards, a dark-eyed man who leant on his spear and had been watching the Half-Elves, not with suspicion, but with that all-too-familiar expression of pity. 

“We just got here,” Vex replied, keeping her hold on Trinket as the Whitestonians walked or rode by on horses.

The big grizzly had been tense ever since entering Whitestone, not even finding it within him to relax at the tavern, audibly whining from time to time as they had walked on. 

“I know,” the guard nodded. “I’ve been sent to find you. We don’t get newcomers these days. Too dangerous. I doubt you’ll want to stay.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Nobody stays in Whitestone,” the guard said darkly. “No-one other than the residents. Your best bet is backtracking to one of the small settlements in the Parchwood.” 

“Why were you sent to find us?” Vex’s hand tightened on Trinket. 

“Orders, ma’am,” replied the guard. “Your unannounced arrival was reported to the de Rolos and you’ve been summoned to the castle to which I can escort you.” 

Vax winced. The man in the tavern had been a spy then.

The butterflies in Keyleth’s tummy were crashing into one another now and when another guard, a strong-armed woman with a ponytail tied firmly back beneath her helmet, approached to flank them on the other side, her anxiety soared strong.

The new guard was looking directly at Keyleth and seemed to do a brief double take. 

“You look familiar...” she said, curiously.

The druid hid her nerves long enough to try a friendly smile. 

“I am Keyleth, the daughter of Korrin and Vilya.” She swallowed again. “Of the Air Ashari?” 

The guard smiled at that. 

“I thought so.” She turned to the first guard and nodded at him. “I’ll take charge of them and escort them to the castle.”

Rather than settle any nerves, the fact that one of the Whitestone’s Pale Guard seemed to know her only filled Keyleth with even more apprehension. There was going to be no hiding from her old friend at this rate.

As for Vex and Vax, when they saw the first guard consider the offer and nod his approval, they steadied themselves and allowed the current turn of events to pull them along as they had done ever since arriving in the city of Westruun, all those days before. 

“You can call me Trish,” said the second guard. They moved slowly through the cobblestone city and down a market road towards the town centre and people stepped respectfully to one side as they were escorted. “I’m one of the personal guards to the de Rolos.” 

“And you recognised me?” asked Keyleth, hanging onto her staff like a lifeline and hoping the shake in her voice hadn’t been detected. 

“We’ve never met,” chuckled Trish. “I didn’t take up a position at the castle until after the Restoration but I can recall seeing you with the family back before everything went to...” She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m sure you know.” 

“I do,” Keyleth said, her head hanging. “I’m afraid I did very little in helping your city.”

Trish waved her guilt away with one hand. “Ah, we managed. In the end. But tell me, because the Lord and Lady will want to know, what brings the three of you and bear, of all things, to Whitestone?”

The story came out and was told once more, each of the Half-Elves contributing to the tale, Keyleth saying how her people lived in unrest due to the imbalance of nature and the twins telling of how they came to her aid in trying to find information regarding the murders. Keyleth then mentioned that they had other friends who were also helping in this mystery and that, in time, they too might find their way to Whitestone which Trish made no comment on. 

She paused as they entered the city centre where Whitestone’s beloved landmark, the Sun Tree, stood in pride of place, it’s high branches stretching out over the square to provide an enormous shelter for all those beneath it.

Keyleth gazed up at it with a mixture of delight and sadness. She remembered how much she loved the Sun Tree as a girl. When it was full of leaves, the sun shining through cast the City Centre in a soft glow and it almost felt as though they were in the Feywild. When it was spring time, it produced blossoms and the cobblestones would be littered with pale pink petals that Keyleth would either collect or try and catch in the air. When the summer ended, the leaves would turn bright yellow and orange and red as though the Sun Tree was on fire and when they fell, enormous fun was had in collecting the fiery leaves up into piles and jumping through them. In the winter, although baring fewer leaves, the Sun Tree would still look beautiful with it’s many mighty branches powdered with silver snow and little lights and lanterns and blue and lilac streamers hanging off of them in celebration of Winter’s Crest. 

The Sun Tree had suffered during the brief rule of the usurpers that had killed most of the de Rolo family and even though two still remained, it seemed that it was going to take a while to recover. Keyleth knew the tree was special and had a mind of it’s own. So when she looked at it and saw it’s cracked bark and the few smattering of limp leaves that dotted about it’s branches, she could tell that it was still mourning the loss of the noble family.

On Vex and Vax’s part, they had never known the Sun Tree in all it’s glory so they were still taken aback and amazed at such a magnificent tree. 

Keyleth looked past the Sun Tree and up the rise in the distance where the mighty castle stood, watching over the city like a guardian. 

“Keyleth?” Vax’s soothing voice murmured into her right ear. “Are you alright?”

She hadn’t been aware that she had started to shake a little as she went on staring at the castle. 

“Well it’s just... It’s just, I haven’t been here in over five years and...” 

“You’re worried?” When Keyleth nodded, Vax glanced towards his sister who gazed sympathetically back at her. Taking a deep breath, Vax carefully - almost nervously - wrapped his arm around her and gave her a short, comforting squeeze. “If you feel as though you’re not ready, that’s okay. Vex and I can go and speak to whoever’s in charge.”

To his surprise, Keyleth didn’t pull away from him and altogether she was roughly the same height as him, she buried her face into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through his armour, returning the hug. “You’re only here because of me and I can’t even-” 

“No worries,” Vax gulped, his heart thudding in his chest. “Why don’t we meet you somewhere later?” 

“You can wait with Trinket if you like and he’ll look after you,” Vex said, pretending that there was nothing to be gleaned from the fleeting moment of familiarity that had passed between Keyleth and her brother, right in front of her.

Pretending that the hot sensation in her chest wasn’t the stab of jealousy. 

“I’ll... Yeah, I’ll do that,” Keyleth nodded, standing up away from Vax and composing herself. “I don’t need Trinket. Thank you.”

Vax reluctantly let go of her arm. 

“We’ll fill you in on everything when we get back. Oh, uh... do you want us to let them know that you’re here?”

Keyleth thought about it and finally shook her head. “...No. He’ll only wonder why I haven’t come to see him. He might be upset. Just leave me nameless for now and I’ll work out how to talk to him later.” 

“Okay, if you’re sure.” 

“I am.” And she smiled at him. “I’ll wait for you at ‘Journey’s End’. Please take care.”

Vax couldn’t keep his own smile off his face as he turned to walk in step with his twin who had, with a roll of her eyes, moved to follow a patiently waiting Trish. Trinket gave a bear’s equivalent of a chuckle and ambled on along with them in amusement. 


	12. “Thank you, Lord and Lady de Rolo.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If so, be patient, sister.”  
> \- The Comedy of Errors

The castle appeared to loom bigger and bigger as they walked up the road towards the gates of the courtyard.

The gates were large and iron-barred and were held between two gate-towers, both of which had a single guard dressed in heavy leathers, wearing brimmed hats and armed with long pikes and strange metallic rods of some kind that the twins had never seen before, stationed at the top. All along the walls of the courtyard were other patrolling guards dressed in the same livery as the two on the towers. They were not adorned with the same Pale Guard uniform that Trish was sporting which indicated that these were of a different regiment.

The twins could feel the eyes on them even from down the road and Vex’ahlia especially was able to recognise and appreciate the many looks of many marksmen.

Their escort signalled up to the tower guards and, after a hesitating pause, the gates swung open to allow them through the and up into the courtyard where men and women in Pale Guard uniform were changing shifts, all being watched over by the eagle-eyed soldiers on the wall with the hats and the shiny metal rods. 

“I don’t know if that bear of yours will be allowed in or not...” Trish warned quietly as they casually crossed the courtyard, mindful of the other guards that were either moving to be on duty or were signing off. 

“The bear stays with me,” Vex said firmly. “Trinket is my companion and he won’t like being out here on his own surrounded by strangers.” 

Not protesting or kicking up a fuss, Trish shrugged her shoulders. 

“Can’t argue with that.”

She spoke quietly with the Pale Guards that were stationed outside the main castle doors and they both exchanged looks and glanced sceptically towards the twins before nodding and stepping aside. Not checking to make sure she was being followed, Trish knocked briefly on the doors and opened them, holding it for the Half-Elves and the bear to follow in behind her.

Their footsteps went from tapping against cold stone steps to now echoing around the ‘welcoming hall’, or foyer, of Whitestone Castle where other guards had been dutifully waiting at the doors on the inside to shut them again. The hall was of moderate size and had hallways and doors leading off either side. But the grand staircase, which wound up and round in two separate directions, took pride of place in the centre of the room, also made of stone except for the deep blue carpet that ran down the middle. 

“If you could just wait here,” Trish asked, looking over her shoulder, “I’ll let them know you’ve arrived and give them your names. I must go on duty now so it won’t likely be me that fetches you.” 

“Understood,” Vax replied. 

With another nod, Trish straightened her back and marched off through a door on the right, leaving Vex and Vax to look around and sit awkwardly on benches along the wall with Trinket sat beside them, looking as dignified as he could. The two guards minding the doors weren’t interested in watching their guests directly but the twins knew they probably had them in their peripheral sights at all times.

While Vax went about rubbing the sweet spot behind Trinket’s ears, Vex began studying the castle a bit more. Everything looked to be made of this whitestone material, a pale grey, almost white, quartz rock. The floor, the walls, the staircase and the pillar columns were all of the same basic material but cut and carved differently and with the occasional decorative piece in marble or wood which featured Whitestone’s coat of arms. There were a few tapestries on the walls, not too extravagant, but beautifully embroidered. The coat of arms appeared to hang above the doors as well, of which there were about six that Vex could see: two on the left wall, two on the right, and two on either side of the staircase. The coat of arms consisted of a tree with the sun hanging above it and five stars dotted beneath it. 

“Excuse me?” she said in a polite voice to the guards, “my brother and I are new. Is the tree in the coat of arms meant to be the Sun Tree?” 

The guards tensed a bit and one coughed. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he replied, “but we’re on duty. Not sure we’re meant to be talking to you.” 

“Oh.” 

“...But yes, yes it is.”

Vax was smiling. Despite their upbringing, Vex had a fascination with how the upper class lived and while she was ready to mock the rich and wealthy as much as Vax did, she _did_ love their taste and she secretly admired their way of life. If only it wasn’t so corrupted... 

Another door opened and another guard appeared, looking at them curiously. 

“Are you the ones that have been summoned by Lord and Lady de Rolo?” he asked. 

“Apparently so,” Vax said, getting to his feet. “That was quick. I was expecting us to be waiting until tomorrow.” 

“The de Rolos always preferred efficiency,” the guard actually chuckled. “And they have been notified as to the nature of your visit and they have decided it takes precedence. If you would please follow me?”

Both doors either side of the staircase were revealed to lead into the same smaller room behind where visitors were to wait before a set of large double doors to be allowed into the courtroom beyond.

A young lad, perhaps in his late teens, had walked briskly from the doors of what was known as the Chamber, where all the big decision making of the council happened, to sit on a chair to the far side and sort out some loose coins that he’d been given. One of his hands had apparently once sustained severe damage and looked to be missing three fingers as well as the area of the palm that they once grew from. Despite this, he appeared bright eyed and eager as he looked round once the twins were shown inside.

The guard then went to stand by the double doors, ready to open them when prompted.

The young lad couldn’t help but stare for a moment. Twins were uncommon enough that they were a novelty to some but the bear was the real eye-catcher. 

“...You’re new around here. Are you visiting?” he asked politely, trying to tie his pouch of coins to his belt which, impressively, he accomplished. 

“Don’t you see many Half-Elves around?” Vex asked, smirking a bit. 

“Oh we have an extended family of Elves and Half-Elves that have lived in this city for some time,” the lad replied which surprised the twins. “I was only saying that I don’t recognise you. You ain’t staying are you?” 

“Why?” asked Vax, faintly recalling what the Pale Guard man had said. “What if we were?”

The young Human was about to reply when the other guard suddenly caught his attention and shot him a warning look. 

“...No, not my place to say...” the lad gulped and rubbed his head with his damaged hand. “I really should get to the stables. At any rate, you’d best talk with Lord Percival and Lady Cassandra. Not my place to say...”

He hurried off through the other single door as the guard cleared his throat and announced: 

“You may go in now.”

* * *

The twins had never set foot inside a throne room before so they had no memory or prior experience to fall back on but they were left with no doubt that this would have been considered such a room had Whitestone Castle housed a throne or two. While many liked to refer to the de Rolos as royalty (due to the legend that the ancient family had actually descended from a branch of Wildmount’s royal monarchy) they knew that, at most, they were simply powerful Lords and Ladies and thus had no need of an official throne.

Fancy chairs, certainly. But not a throne.

The ‘court’ was large but decorated modestly as one would imagine for a noble court. The floor was smooth wood and the walls were lined with intricately carved panels of the same material. Above the double doors that visitors entered through and around the room, above the wall panels, were other coats of arms, each one polished and displayed to represent the noble families that had been bred into the current lineage. There were single doors on the left wall and on the right that looked to blend in with the wood panels so that they weren’t noticeable at first. A candle chandelier of some sort hung in the centre of the ceiling, presiding over the room along with the the four guards that stood attentively in the corners. The far side of the room was dominated by large floor-to-ceiling windows which would have had a glorious view of the Parchwood and the Whitestone Valley between the mountains of the Alabaster Sierras had the curtains, thick blue cloths with silver embroidery, not been pulled some of the way. 

Before the windows, part of the floor was elevated by a couple of steps and, stood on top of this platform, side by side, were two ornate chairs and two richly dressed people watching the twins as they were quietly shown inside.

When given the name ‘Lord and Lady de Rolo’, various images had briefly passed through the minds of Vex and Vax. Keyleth had mentioned that she had been close friends with the family as a child so it was no real shock to them to see that the two Humans were younger than one might first picture a Lord or Lady of Whitestone to appear. They hadn’t fully realised, however, just _how_ young. Or how tragically beautiful.

The lady, stood on the left, was a full head and a bit shorter than the lord and the twins had a hard time placing her age for she had the physical appearance of a teenager and yet the darkness to her eyes and the maturity on her face could have convinced anyone that she was mentally much older than that. The twins were used to the lengthy ageing process of Elves so it did not take them long to recognise that the premature ageing in the young girl was unnatural for a Human.

The lord, stood to the right, almost looked even more haunted. He was slim and elegant but there was the same sort of shadow around his eye and despite his tall, upright confidence, he still discretely held to the lady’s fingers with his own pale hand as though he were frightened he might lose her if he were not physically in contact with her. Vax’ildan immediately recognised the gesture; it was how a brother was able to tell his sister that he was on her side and ready to defend her if need be.

There was no mistaking that they were siblings rather than husband and wife. The distance between them was close but not intimate and their facial features all but gave away their shared blood. They possessed the same blue eyes, the same jaw-line and face shape, the same strong brow. 

There was, at first glance, only one major difference. Lady de Rolo’s hair was dark save for a shock of white that ran from her temple, behind her ear. Lord de Rolo’s hair was frosted white all over and only at the edge of his neck, his sideburns, his eyebrows and the flecks of facial hair on his chin remained dark. Unless early white hair was hereditary, it was clear that the two of them had shared in some terrible trauma which Keyleth had already confirmed prior to this meeting.

Vex and Vax both stopped a few feet from the step with Trinket pressing into Vex’s leg. No-one had batted an eye at the fact that a huge bear wearing armour had followed two Half-Elves into the courtroom. The twins bowed and Trinket, following his mistress’ lead, nodded his big furry head. 

“You are Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan Vessar of Syngorn,” said the man. “Is this correct?” 

His voice was definitely the voice of a noble - clear and clipped with an upper-class accent. 

“Yes, my lord,” answered Vax, wincing internally at having to show this level of respect to a noble and having to answer to both his father’s name _and_ home. 

“And twins, I see,” added the young woman, her eyes flitting between them as they looked back up. “Not a couple?” 

“No, my lady,” Vax answered again. “Thankfully our resemblances and names are unmistakable enough that others do not incorrectly think we are married.”

Now that they were closer, Vex was able to better see the attractive features on their faces and the high quality material of their outfits. The lord wore a long blue coat embroidered with gold and the lady wore a corseted handkerchief gown of the same colour. 

“Would that we had the same assurance,” Lady de Rolo sighed. “I am Cassandra. This is my older brother, Percival, and we welcome you to Whitestone.” 

“And we thank you for agreeing to the summons,” nodded Lord de Rolo. “We are sorry if this has caused any disturbance to your plans.”

Vax’ildan wondered if he should dare ask the identity of the one who had notified them of their presence... 

“Truthfully,” his sister shrugged, “we didn’t have a fixed schedule. How can we help?” 

“We have been told of your investigations. You are following the trail of the mysterious Tal’Dorei killer, aren’t you?” 

“Only since Westruun,” said Vax. “We were not around to hear of any victims from cities further West of there.” 

“Emon only reported one death that fit a similar description to the Westruun murders back in the Spring,” said Cassandra, lowering herself into one of the chairs while her brother remained standing, his hand that had been holding her now resting on the back of her seat. “Then two men, woodcutters, were reported missing a month later and another two men from Kymal soon after that. Westruun was then struck and, from there, you have followed. Now you come to Whitestone?” 

“There has been a trail, a pathway, of sorts,” explained Vex. “Whitestone, by all logical assumptions, looked to be the next hunting ground for the killer, whoever it may be.” 

“You must leave.”

Lady de Rolo had spoken with such abruptness that Vex wondered if she’d misheard. 

“Pardon?”

Lord de Rolo carefully placed his hand from the back of the chair to his sister’s shoulder. 

“We... fear that the killer has already struck at Whitestone,” he said, his voice tight and emotionless. 

“Then there are bodies? Victims?” Vex looked between them. “Please, Lord and Lady de Rolo, you must allow us to look into this. We may know something! We can perhaps identify similarities to confirm that this is indeed the same murderer.” 

“Which will help us learn so we can hunt down and find them. If they are here, we can stop them,” Vax added and he heard Trinket ‘whuff’ affirmatively behind them. 

Percival, for the first time, allowed a flicker of emotion to appear in his face and it was one of worry. “We dare not risk it. The killer has attacked our city in a, uh, different way.” 

“How...?” 

“Victims here have all been travellers or traders - visitors,” Cassandra said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “The people you see in this city are all either native Whitestone-born people or people who have lived here for more than five years. The killer targets strangers here so you are in danger the longer you stay.”

Now it made sense as to why the people here looked at them sadly or with worry. All they saw were dead men walking, invisible targets painted on each of their backs. 

“But...” said, Vax, “but then this killer must be damaging your trade. Surely no-one will want to do business with Whitestone if this continues.” 

“Foreign or outer city business must happen beyond these walls, it is true,” Cassandra admitted. “Trade is complicated and requires time and energy for our people to travel between towns. Courier systems and such.” 

“You have to leave Whitestone in order to trade?” Vex shook her head in a subtle manner. “Surely that’s a drain on resources and-” 

“It is,” Cassandra interrupted as her voice went sharp all of a sudden. After a moment, she softened it. “But it is the only way we can ensure that no-one else dies in our city.”

Vax glanced to his twin, assessing what their plan of action should be, before he settled on trying to glean as much information as they were able to in the time they were allotted. 

“When was the last victim discovered?”

Lord de Rolo removed his hand from his sister’s shoulder and held it behind his back. In doing so, he seemed to increase in height by a couple of inches as his back straightened. 

“...Two days ago. Some lost vagabond looking for shelter. They were only here less than a day.” 

“A day?” Vex repeated, genuinely shocked. “It took the killer only that long to find a stranger in the city and...” 

“I’m afraid so. The killer is quick, ruthless, shows no mercy... and we need to know that you will leave this city by tomorrow. I am not even certain if you will survive the night.” 

“But if we’re inside...” 

“The last victim was found in a room at an inn. Killed in their bed. Walls and doors mean nothing.” 

“Then... the castle?” 

“A year ago, a visiting noble had to be evacuated during the night. Even the castle provides no sanctuary.”

Trinket whined and pressed further into Vex’s leg. The guards of the room shifted nervously as a chill blew through the courtroom.

The corner of one of the curtains caught the draught and moved a little. 

“...Do we know how _particular_ the killer is?” Vax asked after swallowing his unease. “Do they only strike at ones within the city walls?” 

“Yes,” nodded Vex, “would we be safe if we camped outside?”

Cassandra opened her mouth and frowned slightly, turning to her brother for the answer even as she was already speaking. “...We... We are not sure. The Parchwood is Whitestone’s forest and is, therefore, counted as our territory.” 

“But is the killer to know that?” 

“Again, we do not know. There is so little that we _do_ know that we are forced to take these precautions in order to prevent further bloodshed.” 

“My lord and lady,” Vax sighed, “if we agree not to stay overnight in Whitestone city, will you still allow us to investigate these murders? We’ve come so far.”

Lady de Rolo had briefly taken her eyes away to look at Vax but she now trained them back on her brother. “...Percival?”

Lord de Rolo shifted a little. 

“...I... It would cause me great pain if you should come to harm in our city,” he eventually replied. “Whitestone is already avoided and if these murders continue, our people may want to leave and we will be ruined.”

Vex took a step forward, closer to the noble siblings, and clasped her hands in front of her. She looked up into the face of Lord de Rolo, staring into his steel blue eyes with all the charm she could muster. 

“Please, my lord,” she said softly, not wanting to break eye contact but discovering how much of a task she’d taken on in trying not to become mesmerised by the icy irises that gazed back at her. “If we cannot stop the killer now then we risk losing them completely and many more lives may be at risk. This goes beyond Whitestone.”

She watched his eyes bore into her even more deeply, flickering slightly as though searching for something. 

“...I do not know if there will be anything you can do,” he told her, his gentle voice contrasting with the strength of his intense eyes. “Lady Cassandra and I will be leaving tonight to one of our neighbouring villages in order to oversee security. Normally only one of us is needed but...” 

“But I insisted,” Cassandra chipped in, her finger curling around the edge of her brother's coat. “I need my brother close.” 

“So long as you agree to be out of the city by evening, we shall not prevent you from doing what you will.” 

“Please, however,” Cassandra continued after him, “do not harass the people any more than is needed. They have been through much and only their strength keeps them going.” 

“When we return, we shall be sure to meet with you again to discuss any findings and from there we will make an arrangement. Is this agreeable?”

Vax glanced to his twin and waited until she looked back at him to blink her agreement. 

“Thank you, Lord and Lady de Rolo,” he said afterward. “We will agree to do this.”

Cassandra looked relieved and her shoulders visibly relaxed. 

“Then we thank you,” she told him. “If you have any need for supplies, be sure to gather them before the market closes. That is when you should leave.” 

“We must leave when the markets close?” 

“The killer tends to strike when there are fewer people around to witness,” Percival nodded, looking away sadly. “Stay to the main roads and keep to the busy centre in case they attempt an attack during the day. Everyone agrees that this killer is unpredictable and I can only ask that you be on your guard and leave the city when the stalls are packed up. You are of Syngorn and I would not want your blood spilled on Whitestone soil.”

Vax grunted and tried not to let a fierce look take over his face. “I can assure you that very few in Syngorn would mourn us if we were careless enough to be killed. We are children of Byroden, first and foremost.” 

“Regardless, it is still not a risk we are willing to take. We have told you of our decision and that is where we will leave the matter,” said Lady de Rolo, slightly hotly, and she leant on Lord de Rolo’s arm as she got up from her chair. “Percival? I shall take my leave and prepare for tonight. This court is adjourned.” Having said that, she turned and swept from the room through the door to the left with a grace and dignity that Vex admired.

Percival was left standing on the dais alone, seemed to debate on whether to go after her or stay and apologise for her abrupt exit. 

“...Please don’t think little of her,” he said, turning back to the twins. To their surprise, he seemed to relax and he stepped down to be level with them. “She is frightened as we all are. The mystery surrounding this whole notorious affair is enough to drive the strongest man into paranoia and Whitestone, alas, has it’s fair share of dark stories even without a murderous guardian angel lurking her streets.” 

“That what I don’t understand,” said Vax. “Why does the killer feel the need to protect your city and what drew it to other cities?” 

“...We have only so much information at our disposal.” The lord sighed and lifted his chin, suddenly turning towards the exit doors. “Come, walk with me.”

If they were expecting the guards to protest or dissuade this, they were left disappointed as the armoured guards made no movement or comment about two Half-Elven strangers walking with the lord of their city. They walked together with Trinket in polite quiet towards the large double doors at the front of the castle. 

“Do you know much about Whitestone?” Percival asked out of the blue. His face looked troubled. 

“Nothing at all except for the fact that it’s the best source of Parchwood Timber and Refined Residuum,” Vax replied honestly. “Made from the whitestone ore?” 

“That's correct. The lands around this city are full of whitestone, buried within the rock and hidden within the ground. Our most abundant resource also happens to be the most expensive.” 

Vex smiled, half impressed. “No wonder the city is so wealthy.” 

“And precisely,” said Percival, not looking proud of her compliment, “the reason why it would fall to ruin if the people abandoned it out of terror.”

The natural question following such a statement as whether it was thought that the killer was protecting, not the city, but rather the residuum, hoarding it for itself. Percival couldn’t say. So Vax asked whether it was possible that the killer had the potential to become empowered by it as, according to the strange mix of history and legend, the natural ore was said to have been affected by the gods when a great battle occurred between Pelor the Dawnfather and the Chained Oblivion. People would often say that the stone still emitted an essence of some kind and that it seeped through the soil and into the water supply and forest... 

“Perhaps,” said Percival. “But as we have said before, we haven’t all the answers though, certainly, it’s only logical to believe that the whitestone itself might have caught the creature’s attention.”

Vex’s pointed ear twitched. “...Creature?” 

“Well,” swallowed Percival, “the killer has yet to be identified and I am unconvinced that anyone, by they of any race, has the capacity to tear apart their victims in quite the same manner.”

To each other, the twins spared another look. 

“You’ve seen the victims then?” 

“Yes and they are...” The Lord of Whitestone shuddered and paled considerably as they stood outside the castle doors. “I... would not allow Cassandra to see them. She has seen enough bodies in her time and sometimes I forget she is still young. Already she is plagued by memories of...” He stopped and he swallowed, the apple in his throat bobbing for a distracting second. “Forgive me.”

They saw the struggle in his eyes, the pain of trying to hold in some raw emotion which had been stirred by traumatic memories. 

“I am sorry,” Vax said softly and was surprised by the flash of intent that suddenly appeared on the lord’s face. 

“...If you are both truly convinced that you can ease the suffering of my people then I need no such apology,” he told them. Immediately, he straightened up again and the air of proud nobility was restored to him as he bowed to them both. “I wish you all the best in your investigations, Mr Vessar. Ms Vessar.” With a graceful sweep, he had caught Vex’ahlia’s hand and had placed a very gentle kiss to her fingers before turning away with a swish of his coat, retreating back inside the castle.

She had been caught by surprise as she still hadn’t reacted even after the doors were closed and she and her brother had been left in silence on the front steps. She wasn’t used to having nobles actually bow to _her_ before, much less kiss her hand as though she were a proper respectable lady. That level of dignity was unheard of in Syngorn. 

“Typical,” Vax snorted, folding his arms. “You expect nobles like that to actually act like gentlemen.” When Vex raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “ _I_ didn’t get a hand kiss.”

Vex laughed. “It’s just what fancy pants nobles do. It’s their way of showing respect.” 

“Well where’s MY respect?” 

“Clearly you haven’t earned it.” 

“You better hope your hands are clean.” 

“If you’re feeling left out,” Vex tittered, swanning away back towards the city, “I’m sure Keyleth will compensate you.” 

“Your comedy hasn’t shown any signs of improvement, Stubby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To close out 2020, the meeting of the Vessar and de Rolo siblings. 
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos. It really means a lot to me. I’m looking forward to actually get to the more sinister, spooky parts of the story now. 
> 
> Whitestone is one heck of a horror story.


	13. “...I know it’s that one.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.”  
> \- Coriolanus

True to word, Keyleth was found at ‘Journey’s End’, sipping a cup of water from the table she’d managed to seat herself at once the previous occupiers had vacated it. She was lost to the world while she stared at the lines in the table, sifting through her many thoughts to such an extent that she took no note of Vex’ahlia and Vax’ildan until they sat down in her immediate line of eyesight. Startled from her thought process, Keyleth took up an instinctual smile before she let it drop in favour of asking after the conversation with the de Rolos. 

With the assurance that they had made no mention of her, the twins related to her a condensed version of their overall discussion and revealed that the killer had seemingly changed their opinions when it came to choices of victim in Whitestone. 

They made it clear that their agreement with the de Rolos was largely bound to the promise that they would leave the city after the closing of the afternoon markets, before the much quieter and far less crowded Evening Stalls were set up for the more nocturnal Whitestonians. 

It meant that their first course of action was to firstly secure a campsite in the Parchwood and to secondly scout the city for potential hunting grounds that a serial killer might frequent. 

Keyleth asked if they were to separate or stay together in the achievement of these tasks in a way that subtly suggested that she was already hopeful of her answer and, to her relief, it was collectively agreed that no-one of their group ought to be alone in Whitestone from here on out. Her relief was renewed stronger once they’d left the inn with the intention of deciding on a place to sleep for the night because on their way to the gates, a familiar voice commented,

“...Ah, an untrustworthy lot if ever I saw one.” 

The smirk that had been fixed on the Gnome’s face as he had ambled up cockily towards them was quickly smothered under several pounds of brown grizzly bear fur. Scanlan had to perform a duck and roll in order to escape Trinket’s enthusiastic greeting. 

“It’s been so long,” laughed Vax, “that I’d almost forgotten that you talk big for someone so close to the ground.” 

“Less of that, stick boy, I’m older than you.” Scanlan brushed his shirt and wrinkled his nose at the bear that had turned his greeting to Pike and Grog. “How goes the investigation?” 

Vax cautiously patted the Goliath on the arm and tried ignoring the cunning smile that Grog returned in response. 

“Well,” Vax replied, “seems congratulations are in order because the killer is definitely here in Whitestone and the unusual thing is that everyone in this city is more calm about it than we are.” 

“People here look at us funny,” Grog said, making a point of looking around him. “Not like in a judgin’ kind of way but in a, kind of, feelin’ sorry for you kind of way.” 

A violent tremble shook Pike as she pulled away from her embrace with Keyleth and Vex.

“Give me a multiple choice as to which city feels like it’s hiding a murderer and I’d pick this one,” she said. 

“The good news for you then is that we won’t be staying overnight here,” said Vex and went on to explain the terms of the agreement for a second time. 

“Fantastic,” Scanlan sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to camping out in the wild for our entire trip so we had no _real_ desire to enjoy the warmth and comfort of an actual bed in a dry, cosy room and the fact that we’ll have a bear with us is just an added bonus, if you ask me.” 

“Precisely why we _did_ ask you,” Vex smirked. 

Scanlan was only placated when they told him that he could pick out the camping spot which ended up being a partially secluded glen half an hour from the main city gates. They opted for a fairly open area so that there weren’t so many hiding places for a killer to wait in ambush and it offered several large tree branches for when some felt it would be safer sleeping above and off the ‘killing floor’, as it were. 

Though this didn’t count as being in the city, they were all made very aware of the fact that there was nothing to stop a killer from following them from the city or tracking them down through the forest. They hadn’t any idea on how thorough this murderer was but if they hunted with the same devotion and dedication as they did disposing their victims, it was suffice to say that no stone or leaf would be left unturned. 

By the time the group had decided on their spot and had reacquainted themselves with each other, there was only a few hours before the closing of the markets. Pike petitioned that the opportunity be given for she and Scanlan, being the smallest and less noticeable members, to quickly head into the city in order to purchase new clothes. 

“Why? What’s wrong with the clothes we’re wearing?” asked Scanlan. “Or _not_ wearing, in Grog’s case.”

Grog grinned like a misbehaving school boy. 

“It’s just an idea,” Pike said. “Maybe if we’re dressed more like the people of the city, we can blend in better. Make our presence less obvious to the Whitestonians and any lurking murderers.” 

“You may be smaller than average,” Vex said, “but are you sure that isn’t going to just _attract_ attention? I didn’t see many Gnomes when we first arrived.” 

“No, but they have Halflings here don’t they? Some Dwarves?” 

“You’re diddier than a Dwarf, Pike,” Grog pointed out. “Like, Halflin’ maybe but not a Dwarf. Dwarves are big next to you.” 

“Well fine, Halfling then,” Pike said with an exasperated sigh. “Still a lot less easy to spot in a crowd. What do you think?” 

The others mulled it over. 

“All right,” Vex finally said. “But don’t pay too much money, okay? We might need it for other things. And I pray to whichever god wants to hear that Whitestone has a moderately decent sense of style...” 

Trinket grunted in agreement.

* * *

After Pike and Scanlan had left, Keyleth walked a few paces off by herself, imagining what they’d return with. There was something more distinct about Whitestone in the way they dressed and presented themselves and she began playing back memories of her past visits, watching the women of Whitestone pass by on the street wearing their brown corsets and their long layered skirts, some wearing hats and suit jackets like the menfolk wore. Even the poorer people of Whitestone held themselves in a relatively distinguished manner.

As anticipated, she started to picture the de Rolos and how they the seven siblings all stood in a neat row, backs straight, chins high, each one dressed in immaculate jackets or dresses of blue suede with their gold-button waistcoats and ascots and spotless riding boots and they always wore matching gold brooches and they all looked impossibly smart and clean and Keyleth could simply not imagine any of them wanting to go running through a dirty forest with her to play in the river but, sure enough, they had discarded their ascots and vests and too her hands and went- 

“Keyleth?”

Vax’s voice was such a soft sound that Keyleth found no reason to be startled by it, however unexpected it was as it broke her train of thought. She turned in his direction and found him leaning against a tree with a kindly concerned look on his face. 

“Hey, listen...” he continued once he had her attention, “Lord and Lady de Rolo say that they’ll be leaving the city for a little while. A few days possibly. I think... Maybe you should see them before they leave? Just in case.”

Keyleth couldn’t stop her gaze from trailing up to the castle. 

“...Yeah...” she replied quietly. The image of the seven smiling de Rolo siblings slowly transformed into a still and silent oil painting that hung only in her memory. “You’re right.” 

“If you want,” Vax coughed uncomfortably, “one of us could come- I mean, _I_ could come with you but, you know, I think it might be less strange if I just...” 

“Oh right, um... Yeah, I should do this by myself. But thank you, Vax. You’re really thoughtful and I appreciate that.” 

An insect chirped appropriately somewhere in the shrubs while the two Half-Elves gave each other awkwardly endearing smiles.

Vax cleared his throat after the insect chirped again. 

“...Where did Vex go?”

Keyleth waved her hand behind her. “She said something about checking out the forest area.” 

“Figures,” Vax smiled to himself and kicked a stone away. “Forests and mountains are her favoured terrains.” 

“Then, I guess if it weren’t for a murderer,” Keyleth chuckled, “she’d absolutely love Whitestone.” 

Vax’s smile gradually dropped away and a twinge of remorse took over. “...I guess so.”

Keyleth’s eyes creased with concern. “What’s the matter?”

Vax sighed and slowly came to stand next to the druid, gazing up at the turrets of Whitestone Castle beyond the treetops. 

“Vex’ahlia always took the judgement from the Elves in Syngorn more deeply than I did. I brushed Syngorn off and was happy to live on the road so long as I had her with me,” he explained and then briefly paused. “...But Vex... I think she’s always wanted to belong somewhere. Somewhere she can be loved and respected. Whitestone would have been ideal for her. It’s elegant and beautiful...” 

“Like her.”

Vax looked back to Keyleth and he found himself smiling once again.

* * *

From Pike’s shorter viewpoint, Whitestone was very tall. Maybe not as tall as Emon with its immense Cloudtop District but tall enough to make a Gnome feel a bit overwhelmed. More so, in fact, due to the mountains of the Alabaster Sierras all around. At least Emon’s height was distant but Whitestone, being smaller in size, meant that the height was much closer.

Yet despite the intimidation, there was something profoundly beautiful about the city. 

It wasn’t the biggest city, nor was it the smallest, nor the most densely populated nor the least populated. On the other hand, Whitestone _was_ apparently quite rich and was arguably one of the oldest cities among the race of Humans. 

While Scanlan sweet-talked a trader at a stall, Pike looked up the Sun Tree. It must have been rooted in that spot for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. It would have sat there for all that time and watched people approach it, shelter from a storm beneath it, then decide to settle around it, building roads and houses that stemmed away from it, always expanding out but being careful never to touch or harm it. 

Pike glanced down to where two Human children were playing hopscotch over the cobblestones as they waited for their parents.

They looked no older than five. They would be considered fortunate if they one day reached the age of ninety. Some Humans couldn’t even make it that far.

With her breath caught in her throat, Pike’s hand rose to carefully grasp her holy symbol of Saranrae. 

So young.

Keyleth had once said that trees had feelings. So what did the Sun Tree think? Did the Sun Tree laugh at the antics of Humans as they celebrated their festivals? Did the Sun Tree smile at the little children playing and grimace at the older children who tried climbing its branches? 

Or did the Sun Tree feel sorrow? Did it wish it could love the Humans that lived around it and who treated it with such deep fervent respect but dare not for fear that it would only be that much more painful to watch those five year olds grow old and wrinkly and frail and then wilt away until death?

_DING....BUNG....DING....BUNG....DING....BUNG...._

Over the buildings rang a deep, melodic bell tolling a total of seven times. Various people lifted their heads to listen to it. 

“What was that?” Scanlan asked with a surprised look. The bell ringing had been loud and had taken him by surprise. 

“That’s Lord Percival’s Clocktower,” answered the trader, folding up some cloth for his customers. “Did you know Whitestone has it’s own big clock? It rang seven times. That means you only have an hour before Afternoon Market closes. You strangers best be leaving Whitestone soon.” 

“Clocktower?” Scanlan repeated, taking the clothes he’d bought from the man. “Where about?”

The trader smiled. “Oh you’ll find it. Not tonight though. Far too late. Newcomers like you are toying with fate by coming into Whitestone as it is. You don't want to run into any further mischief, do you?”

Scanlan didn’t say anything but nod his thanks, deciding that Whitestone, to him, was now certified as ‘very creepy indeed’. Pike noticed his face and pulled him away as more and more people began looking at them with worry, noticing that they were strangers and wouldn’t be long for the world. 

“Not scared by a clocktower, are you?” Pike tried to laugh in a bid to push away her own anxieties and melancholy thoughts. She took the lead in bobbing and weaving around and between the long legs of the taller races. 

“Bright, merry bell-ringing for weddings and happy fun times? No!” Scanlan laughed back sarcastically, allowing himself to be dragged ungainly behind the cleric. “Long, droning bell tolls that sound like the undertaker has arranged your own personal music for your funeral march in a city where crows and ravens are perched on every other house and who probably have eyes on someone who was responsible for the fact you even HAVE a funeral to begin with? Kind of unsettling.”

Pike really did chuckle then. “Well when you put it like that...” 

“And, hey, I was just thinking. You said that in your dream there was a tree, right?” Scanlan looked over his shoulder. “Think it was that one?”

The two of them pressed on quickly down the middle of the road, avoiding the edges as they’d been instructed so as not to end up getting picked off. 

“...I _know_ it’s that one,” said Pike.

* * *

There was a crowd gathering in the castle courtyard. Carriages and an armed entourage were preparing to leave by the looks of things and there, in the middle of the group, giving instructions to a young captain who noticed her approaching and pointed her out, stood the Lord of Whitestone. 

It was the first time she’d laid eyes on him in five years. 

The boy she’d last seen and had the most vivid memories of had been a skinny twig of a noble’s son with dark, immaculate hair and bright blue eyes and a faint fluff on his jaw that looked as patchy as most first adolescent attempts to grow a beard looked.

The man who turned towards her was taller and more slender than skinny, like he’d built himself a slightly more muscled frame from months of physical work. The beard was no longer patchy and instead was evenly spread, a dark peppering of tiny rough bristles that shadowed his upper lip, jaw and chin under much thicker sideburns. 

He was too far away to see much more detail than that but upon recognising her, the man’s face seemed to change. A confused frown briefly surfaced before it was taken over by an expression of surprise and soon after that, an expression of delight. 

He began to smile. He broke away from the guards with a pace that might convince someone that he would be running had his reputation as a lord not prevented him from keeping a dignified presentation. 

The poor Half-Elf felt her hands begin to warm up but she rooted her feet like a tree and refused to run. This was her childhood friend! Her BEST friend in the whole of Exandria and she would _not_ run from him. 

A few paces away, the tall handsome man stopped and his smile, at first appearing pleased and happy, wobbled into one of slight insecurity, as though suddenly unsure of himself. 

“...Kiki?”

His voice was deeper.

Keyleth thought she would have to force a smile but, much to her relief, it came naturally, the joy at being reunited with her old friend outweighing her worry. 

“...Hi!” she replied, blinking furiously to hide how watery her eyes had suddenly become. 

A second went by before Keyleth was seized in a firm but gentle hug with her face pressed into her friend’s shoulder while he rested his chin over hers. 

“By the gods, Keyleth!” she heard him say, “It’s so good to see you!”

Relief that he wasn’t angry with her and guilt that she hadn’t been there to help came over Keyleth all at once and she could do nothing but give in to her emotions. 

“I’m so sorry, Percy!” she cried and pulled away to look him in the face. “I’m so sorry I never wrote or visited! I didn’t know what to do and I...” She grabbed him and returned the hug, letting her tears fall into his chest. “It’s good to see you too!”

For a moment, neither said anything. Keyleth shed only a few tears to release her pent up feelings before settling with the contentment that she was still just as loved as she had been five years ago. With her breathing under control, she inhaled the smell of old books and a peculiar, underlying scent of black powder and wood-fire smoke. She felt Percy’s chest rise and fall as he sighed, perfectly happy to wait until Keyleth was ready to break their embrace. 

When she did, Percy stepped back and pleasantries were exchanged. 

“So you’re with...” Percy began. 

“Yes,” replied Keyleth, thinking of Vex and Vax. “They helped me out of an awkward situation in Westruun and they offered to help me track down the cause of these murders that have been happening all over Tal’Dorei. I think they’ve dealt with murderers before and Vex is a superb tracker.” 

“Wow...” Percy said quietly. “You chose to investigate this?” 

“The murderer is somehow threatening to unbalance nature,” Keyleth explained. Her nerves had gone and her voice was the steadiest it had ever been. “The Ashari of all four tribes are feeling the unrest and since I’m already meant to be doing my aramente, it was agreed that this could be a part of it.”

He smiled. 

“You’re doing your aramente? That’s amazing!” Happiness and sadness mixed for a moment. “...I’ll bet your father is proud. Your mother too.”

Keyleth looked down and shrugged. “Yeah. I just wish she were alive so I don’t need to do it.”

Percy took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “...I understand.”

His hand was cold. 

“Oh, of course, Percy...” Keyleth groaned. “I’m, again, so sorry. For what happened and for the fact that I wasn’t around-” 

“I’m glad you weren’t around, Kiki. Really. It was a bad time and I... wasn’t myself.”

Keyleth looked back up in time to catch a glimpse of darkness flitter through her friend’s beautifully blue eyes. 

“What happened?” she asked.

But in that moment, the darkness passed and Percy resumed smiling at her, quickly hugging her again. 

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said. “I’m far too happy to see you for that kind of conversation. Come and speak with Cass...”

* * *

With fingers curled loosely around the bowstring, Vex’ahlia stepped over a littering of sticks while Trinket slowly picked his way through the brush to her right. She had an arrow in her hand at the ready in case it was needed to be notched or used as a close-up melee weapon in a pinch.

She enjoyed the occasional jaunt off by herself. Not that she didn’t prefer having her brother close by but there were times when her ranger side wished for some time alone so she could track and hunt and absorb the peace and tranquility of the natural world around her. Sometimes Vax’ildan would tag along and stealth by in silence but there were times where either he’d accidentally step through an animal print or disturb a sapling or it would be a case that even knowing he was around was enough to throw her off concentration. 

She could hear her brother’s voice in her head: “ _But what about a great big bear stomping through_ -”

Nope. Trinket didn’t count. Trinket could do no wrong.

(“Really? A bear?” A sneer curled Ripley’s upper lip as she watched the ranger carefully move through the forest. “Of all the beasts of the wild that you choose to cement a bond with, you picked brawn over brain. How typical.”

She waited until Vex’ahlia, the Half-Elf she recognised from the tavern, had moved on and then waited a little longer. Anything with Elf blood in their system couldn’t be trusted not to pick up on the tiny sights and sounds. But, Ripley reasoned, the Half-Elf was of no concern. All she and the two other Half-Elves were here to do was try and keep people safe, keep them _alive_. 

“You think you can stop a monster?” Ripley chuckled to herself. “Go ahead and try, half-breed. You’ve already failed.” With a click, she snapped the barrel of her gun back into place and ran a finger along the smooth metal as she studied it proudly. “Brain always wins.”)

Vex’ahlia wheeled round, her arrow taught in the bowstring as a screeching deer bolted away through the bushes. Trinket’s head snapped to follow it with his eyes but seeing as his beloved mistress hadn’t made any move to chase the prey, he remained where he was. 

Vex released her breath but not her arrow.

The Parchwood was a beautiful forest; the trees were a rich green and varied in size, there were glens and rabbit trails and lakes dotted about and there was... something else. Something that ran deep in the soil, feeding the trees and the animals. Something that tingled her Half-Elven skin. Something magical and ancient. 

“Come Trinket,” she murmured, relaxing her bow again. 

Trinket snorted and slowly followed, the fur on his back prickled. He too could feel the ancient power in this forest but there was another power close by and this one, Trinket decided, was a lot less friendly.

He was nowhere near her, but her presence was sensed and although he had no direct passage into the Parchwood yet, Saundor felt as though he could still see her through the leaves.

He knew that girl.

She was wild and she was beautiful. Her braid was thrown over her shoulder as she turned to continue on her way and Saundor let out a breath that dripped with black tar-like sap.

He _knew_ that girl. She had been young at the time, but Saundor had recalled when the city of Syngorn had once appeared in the Feywild. It was a tactic that the Elves used to defend their home against attack, by teleporting to the realm of their Fey ancestors for either safety or to prepare for counter-attacks. On one such time, Saundor had felt the waves of resentment and pain that had seeped from the city and he had followed them until discovering the source: a pair of lonely, ill-treated Half-Elven children.

The boy had been defiant whereas the girl had always made some sort of effort to find a place among the ones who treated her so poorly. Saundor had admired the boy and had felt sorry for the girl, watching them from afar until their city returned to the Prime Material Plane.

She was no longer a child but Saundor still recognised her and her struggles. She was still lonely and she was still very beautiful and he had desired her for a long time. How fortunate he was to finally find her.

He hissed in his frustration, not being able to go to her to see her with his own eyes in his own realm. Not being able to talk to her...

Watching as the ranger went on her way, inspecting her surroundings, Saundor’s eyes, his glowing yellow eyes, flashed with intent and purpose. Through the hazy green veil that divided the Feywild from the Prime Material Plane, Saundor looked and pined from afar as Vex’ahlia vanished among the trees of the forest that he longed to have for himself. If such a maiden came with the forest, Saundor felt he would be ready to drown Ripley in his dark essence for that trade.


End file.
